


At the Hands of the Gods

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dramatic Irony, Fluff and Angst, Heroic Fantasy, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, Overthrowing a Government, Romance, Torture, relationships and tags subject to change, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9496202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In Viktor's eyes, Yuuri is a nameless man who carries secrecy like a cloak, but has a heart as fragile as ice.From Yuuri's eyes, Viktor represents a life he can't have, and an ideal that could only cause them pain.Together they might change the world, if they don't get themselves killed in the process.In other words, a demigod meets a revolutionary hero who might be trying to kill him. Of course, they fall in love. But what could go wrong?





	1. Aeracross, City of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Long ago, before man, Earth was a hellish landscape. From the heavens descended four gods, today known as the gods of creation, and they brought life and fertility to the land. Cyreus gave the earth greenery and nature, Zephemera placed the sun high in the sky, Uzimara speckled that sky with stars, and Kaimera created the moon. The world began to prosper, and with it, creatures began to inhabit their world. Feeling inspired, the gods decided to fashion their own creature, and together they created humans. 
> 
> Zephemera, in love with the fluttering of the birds, gave her humans feathered wings. Cyreus, impressed by creativity and complexity of the insects, gave her humans their characteristics, not stopping with just their wings. Kaimera saw the ferocity of animals, but also admired their social strata, and created humans with their characteristics. 
> 
> Uzimara was not satisfied with any of the creatures, however, so he created his own animal to match his power. He created the fearsome dragon and gave his humans its wings, scales, and power as a sign of their strength. 
> 
> Zephemera, the goddess of the sun and love.  
> Uzimara, the god of the underworld and war.  
> Cyreus, the goddess of nature and knowledge.  
> Kaimera, the god of the moon and family.
> 
> These are the beings of origin, creators of Earth.

 

**Part One**

 

 

 

 

Viktor was a very lucky man.

Had anyone pointed it out to him, he would deny and say that it was true skill that kept someone alive during a fray. And true, his skill did have something to do with him _not_ lying on the outskirts of the city bleeding to death. The arrow in his leg had hurt, though.

No, it was not skill that saved his life—but it wasn’t really luck either. It was a mixture of the two along with a divine touch. It was as if the goddess Cyreus had touched him herself. Not once, but twice.

The nation of Zephemera is both bustling and pathetic, annexed as it is by the industrial powerhouse named Uzimara. Its largest cities were rife with crime and poverty, and the corrupt leadership benefited from the war made by offering the many, many sentenced criminals a chance for repentance via offering their lives on the front lines. Only those willing to line their pockets with the unfortunate souls of the poor could find wealth within these borders. Needless to say, it was the ideal place to spark revolution. Viktor had been en route to the capital of Zephemera, Aeracross, which sat between the two grand nations. It was where the Uzimaran and Zephemeran Church syndicate operated, and although it claimed to honor religion and Uzimara’s name, it was the true conquering hand behind the two nations, and conducted tyranny under the guise of holiness. It might have been the leader of Uzi-Zeph religion, but in Viktor’s eyes, it was the leader of greed.

At the time, Viktor had been escorting a small group of new recruits out of the city under the guise of a travelling merchant, but he’d chosen a wrong time; the military was on edge and his caravan had been chosen for random inspection. The driver had tried to stall them with papers when they insisted on searching, but well, they’d been unlucky. 

It was one thousand years ago that Uzimara began its imperial campaign on the globe. Zephemera allied themselves in hopes for protection, but the union was heavily one-sided, and it’s only proper to say that the winged nation had been conquered and then liquefied of their resources. However, the other two nations of this world were not so easily bested.

Cyrean matched Uzimara in terms of scholarship and strategy. The people of Kaimera allied themselves alongside Cyrean in the true sense of the world, and brought with them the fighting spirit of the hundreds of individual and diverse clans and peoples. Each side saw wins and losses, shifting borders and territories, but never true victories or defeats. Years and years brought dreary war with small periods of peace and tense ceasefires—but never an outright end to the fighting. After one particularly short period of peace, the fighting was going to begin up again. It was now, and Viktor had been too careless in his planning and found himself right in the middle of it.

The week before he’d helped two recruit caravans out, each with the flash of a seller’s permit, and before that another three. Aeracross was a port city, opening up to the Rhoean Sea on its north end, so most of its main shipments were done via sea. Its land was heavily guarded by a 100 meter wall to protect from aerial attacks that once plagued it in the past. Within these walls were miles and miles of farmland and forest, and the lands continued outside. Travelling across the sea to Thusom would require too many passes to fake, and stowing away could lead to death if a pirating ship got lucky. Traveling the long way across the countryside and the Aesom Bridge was the only way to go, but Viktor had eased up in his surveillance of the guard postings. He should have payed attention to the increased guard watch, perhaps not have been so cocky and his luck might not have run out. Had he not been so cocky, he might have actually driven the caravan his damn self.

Viktor had hired someone willing to get their hands dirty for coin, but like before, he did not expect to have more than an uncomfortable ride over the short countryside to Thusom. Viktor was too busy debriefing the brave men and women, bless their souls, to put much thought into the caravan stopping. The driver was probably showing the soldiers their papers, Viktor had thought.

So it’s reasonable to understand that he was caught off guard when an Uzimaran soldier threw open the flaps of the van. There were about five or so recruits besides Viktor, and understandably, none of them had been recruited to fight. The battle inside Aeracross’ walls had begun by targeting the public and spurring action alongside their unrest, and Viktor had hoped to emulate this in Thusom—but Viktor and his small crew had not the size nor the verbosity yet, which is why they were sending small groups over. The plan initially hinged on taking Aeracross in order to weaken the enemy, but once it became apparent that one could not take Aeracross without conquering Thusom the plan became more ambitious; control both Thusom and Aeracross and defeat Uzimara for good. The industrial war house and the planning hand behind the war would be gone, along with two _other_ loose cannons. But we'll address those later. Viktor’s crew was still stationed in Uzimara’s capital, Thusom, and had begun its own agenda, but Viktor still needed the select few in Aeracross to recruit. Aeracross’ rebel fighters had reached an agreement with Viktor’s after his recent success in reclaiming Cyreani islands from the Uzimaran colonists. And mind you, this was only a recent success. Viktor had become the face of freedom to many Cyreani and Kaimeran people on his side of the hemisphere, and now he urged to the same in Zephemera, but on a much larger scale. Many citizens of different backgrounds gave their support to Zephemera’s Ebon Wing Fighters, but alongside the Cyreani backed Stoneglades an end to the war seemed visible. Still, even if they’d succeeded in Aeracross, with Thusom still standing strong it’d be for naught.

And now his entire plan was for naught.

Viktor and his small crew had still been within Aeracross’ city wall when discovered, so there was no hope in escaping to the countryside. All six of them were in a panic as soon as the soldiers drew their swords, and Viktor lost control then. They’d been driven out of the van, and although Viktor managed to grab onto his blessed longsword, he was defenseless without his armor and shield. His recruits had scattered running, wisely heading towards the forest within the city walls. Escape by air would get him killed in a matter of seconds, so he threw up his cloak hood and followed suit, knowing his best bet of survival would be within the woods, distant though they were.

Viktor may have the speed and strength of a Descendant to outrun the normal soldiers and their heavy armor, but another like him was approaching at similar speed, the familiar cloak coming into the side of his view. If they were Uzimaran, he might have taken his chances and assumed his strength was in the waning daylight, but he did not have the time to take any more chances. Blessed iron daggers slashed at him from the side, and he dug his heel into the dirt to avoid the attack, slicing the air with his momentum. The hooded soldier took his swing in stride, parrying the blade and keeping his motion, all the while trying to expose his backside. It was a cheap move, and the intentions were too obvious; the movement lodged his blade into the grass, but with the momentum he got his back leg into the air and landed a swift kick in the soldier’s jaw. The second it took for them to stumble back in their shock was the second Viktor used to land and lift his sword from the ground, bringing it up in an arc from the soldier’s midsection to their chest. They fell to the ground, probably not dead, and Viktor wasted no more time getting to the tree line.

Until he took an arrow to the knee. Well, his thigh specifically. Viktor had thought he was making good distance, but unfortunately, the ample distance just meant target practice for the archers. Surely his luck ran out now.  They aimed for his legs, probably to disable him and save the pleasure of a field execution for him personally.

That would have been his fate, had a recruit not come back for him.

This guy was a big brawny Uzimaran, a lot of show for muscle yet he was one of the first to run screaming from the van when the soldiers flashed their steel. Viktor barely had enough time to register what was happening before the big fellow hoisted him onto his feet and ran into the thicket. He felt his sword slip from his now weak hands, but he didn’t lament; it would be a burden at this point anyway, and Viktor carried concealed daggers. He was barely able to stay on his feet, having to practically get dragged by the brawny recruit, but he could tell they had begun to run a good ways into the forest. The scenery of the forest was passing by Viktor, but it was too fast for him to properly process. No, he felt too groggy, like his mind was glazed over. Was the arrow killing him this quickly? An arrow would not do significant harm to him. Even if the arrow was tipped, Viktor had the ability to survive it with no problems. He had been touched by a goddess, remember?

“Sir Nikiforov, I’m stopping for now.”

“Okay.” Viktor’s voice came slurred, and he once he moved to take his arm off of the brute; he had to patch up his wound.

“Gods, that looks awful,” The recruit turned away, looking like he was going to vomit. Really, it was Viktor who was feeling as nauseous as he looked. The arrow was made of metal.

“It’s fine, it’s… fine.” He had to get this arrow out. Under normal circumstances he’d wait and see, but a metal arrow could potentially kill him. For a normal Cyreani, metal had hardly a bearing on anything, but for Viktor, it would kill him swiftly he didn’t remove it. He’d been touched by the goddess—once literally, and for a second time soon to come, figuratively.

Hundreds of years ago, after the fall of Zephemera, it is said that the gods themselves gave one last gift to man before abandoning the realm for good. When the four mages, now revered as legendary priests, presented a sword tempered in the blood of fallen soldiers to the gods in hopes that they might end the conflict, the gods instead answered by giving one last gift; individuals known as Descendants—who were named because most believe they descended directly from the gods. There are four types of Descendants, one for each race. Viktor was a Cyreani descendant, and each race had a strength to draw from and a metal that when blessed could kill like poison.

The Cyreani could draw their magic from nature, and only nature, but are weak to blessed iron. The Zephemeran people gathered their magic from the life force of all living humans in small doses, but they were weak to blessed gold. The Kaimera people found strength in the moon—especially when it was full—but were weak to the blessed silver. Uzimaran people drew their strength from the emotions of others, but are weak to blessed copper. The gifts from the gods had been argued by many scholars to be a bane—a punishment for man’s sin by creating soldiers of war to further their self-inflicted plight. Their physical appearance was referred to as the “base of humans,” and only if they transformed could their race be discerned. It made them the ultimate spies, but this is not what made them most fearsome. The magical ability of a Descendant was unparalleled in strength. Unparalleled save for one other source.

Yes, one other source, the loose cannon that crumbled many revolution attempts to dust in the past. It was said that the four mages gave their lives and brought to Earth four manifestations of themselves—their Incarnates. Four individuals who hold the power of gods but in human form; each nation has their own. The Zephemeran Priest resided here in Aeracross, and in Thusom resided Uzimara’s. The end result of the rebellion had always been to kill the Priests. It was a feat easier said than done, seeing as both held the unrivaled power of gods. _They_ were the reason why the war was unwinnable. The punishment for man’s avarice was more power, one thousand years’ worth. But Viktor and the Cyreani-backed rebels knew the time had come for change, and the scales had to be tipped one way or the other.

But first, one way or another, Viktor had to live and see it happen.

“Recruit, I need your help.” Viktor had to pull this arrow out. The arrow, thank god, had a shaven head on the end instead of stone or metal, but it unfortunately went completely through. His only choice was to tourniquet it and keep both ends from spurting out blood once it was out, and then bandage it once the bleeding subsided. But if it had nicked an artery, which he thinks it did, he had to stop the bleeding as soon as possible. He couldn’t do all of this in one fell swoop, but he couldn’t wait for the damn recruit to stop vomiting either.

“You have to be strong!” Viktor began to gather energy from the trees and greenery around him. If the arrow weren’t metal, he might have been able to heal himself, but for now all he could manage was bearing the pain. “You’re being tested right now, and you’re failing it miserably. Are you going to cry through your initiation?”

“Initiation? But… but _sir_ , you’re bleeding, I can’t, I can’t even think about—”

“ _Initiation!_ ” Viktor sat up and tore off a long strip of his cloak and propped his leg up on an adjacent rock. “If you stand there and keep throwing up, it’ll be me who puts an arrow through your… through your head.” He was feeling dangerously light-headed, but he had to press on. They may have run far, but a determined search party would find them before the sun set if they kept this antic up.

“You don’t even have to look. I just need you to reach under and pull this arrow out.”

It took a bit more coercing on his part, but Viktor finally got the recruit to agree. With his eyes scrunched shut, the recruit grasped the shaft the arrow.

“On my signal.” Viktor counted down, and at the end the recruit yanked the arrow out, thankfully without hesitating at the pull. The arrow came out in one swift motion, and Viktor immediately took the cloth to his leg and wrapped it tightly above the wound. Then, now that the arrow was removed, he lifted his pant leg up so he could cover the wound with more cloth and protect it from infection. Hopefully, with this much done, the blooding would stop. He wasn’t safe from death yet, but at the very least he wouldn’t die from the metal.

“Sir, sir, I have to go.”

“The wound’s covered now. You can open your eyes.” Viktor said. His head felt considerably clear, but he could still feel the essence of that metal coursing through his veins, restricting his magic flow. Even his constant drawing from the forest was pathetic, but he’d need to keep it up if he wanted to rid himself of this poison.

“No, it’s not the blood. I need to find the other recruits.”

“Don’t even think about it.” Viktor said. “It’s suicide to look for someone with the amount of time we’ve wasted. Right now, we need to focus on covering our tracks and heading deeper into the forest until nightfall.”

“I saw which way she ran—m-my best friend, she was running next to us but she turned away. I’ll bring her back to us.”

“ _No_ ,” Viktor said, but he cut himself off from further argument. There was yelling in the distance—they were very far off, but undeniably soldiers.

They a shared a look now, and Viktor could see in this man’s eyes he wouldn’t be able to stop him. He was in no condition to keep chase with the recruit; he’d be lucky enough to outpace the soldiers.

“Just stay hidden, I’m coming back.” The recruit said in a hushed voice, and before Viktor could stop him, ran off. Viktor stopped himself from calling out, instead let out a frustrated curse.

“Stay here, he says—I’ll be a dead man if I don’t move.”

 _If_ he could move.

 _Cyreus, give me your strength_ , Viktor called upon his magical strength and pushed himself up on his uninjured leg, leaning against a tree. The world spun for a moment, and he felt the nausea from the poison in his veins. He tested his right leg on the ground and, unsurprisingly, got a terrible jolt of pain for his troubles.  He searched the forest floor quickly for a nice-sized stick—something big enough to use for walking. He couldn’t make a speedy get away on his leg, but at the very least he needed to get deeper into the forest and away from his own blood trail.

As he was moving, Viktor realized he could only focus his magic in one area at a time—he had to choose whether he wanted the strength to move, or if he wanted to mask his pain. In the end, he chose mobility over pain-relief. If he could bear the pain, it was a reminder that he was still alive, right?

* * *

Dusk eventually broke into night, and Viktor eventually found the edge of the forest. It opened up into a plain field, and at the near end was the rest of Aeracross’ wall. He made sure to stay deep enough in the forest to go unseen by the wall’s patrols; it would be suicide to try and make a break for it. But if the search was still going on, he wouldn’t put it past the Uzimarans to bring out their hounds.

Viktor couldn’t afford to wait, however. It had been hours since he heard so much as a footfall behind him, and Viktor’s leg wasn’t getting any better. In fact, it was getting worse. He hadn’t been able to properly rest, and all of his movement had aggravated the bleeding. His makeshift bandage was soaked with blood, and it was the only thing keeping him from leaving a trail, but he was losing it regardless. Right now, he had to take his chances and head back in hopes that the search had been called off.

Viktor’s sense of time was skewing, but it took him perhaps an hour to reach the forest’s edge. His breath was coming in weak, shallow puffs and every step felt sapped of energy. The forest’s power was a reservoir waiting for him to draw from it, but it could take days for even trace amounts of metal to leave his system once it was in a Descendant’s body. His chances of survival were looking grim, and Uzimara himself was going to greet him if Viktor didn’t reach a miracle.

But now, at least, Viktor found out why no one was chasing him.

Right there, lined up in a neat row along the forest edge, all five of the recruits lay with their throats slit open. It was sickening—not even given a beggar’s funeral, they were left for the animals to pick at, and a reminder of Uzimara’s brutality. All of this was the result of his own carelessness, and it would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. Fortunately, it wasn’t looking to be very long.

Viktor brought himself down to a sitting position against a nearby tree. He ripped off another strip of cloth from his cloak and made to change the bandage, then lifted his leg so it rested on top of a nearby root. It all felt for naught, though, because he was using all of his magic just to keep himself awake. He was still within Aeracross’ inner wall, and if he had the strength he might’ve chanced sneaking back into the city; guard patrols were mostly heavy on and outside the wall, and if the soldiers thought they’d killed them all, he might be able to sneak in. But once he sat down, he knew he didn’t have the energy to sit back up.

His mouth felt dry, and with a clammy hand, he moved his bangs back so that he could look at the stars peaking between the branches. It’s not exactly a hero’s death, dying alone in a forest with no one to ever know what happened to him. But it’s not like Viktor expected to live a full life, and he’s done enough good in the world to perhaps pass on without regrets. He’d expected to be angrier at an untimely death; he wanted to see the change brought about the world in his lifetime. But now he felt too far away for something as petty as anger.

Through bleary eyes, Viktor caught sight of a figure approaching him. Was it Uzimara himself coming to lead him into the underworld? No, he was still alive—and the hooded figure looking down at him was painted in shock.

Viktor was blessed once in his life, now his second blessing was standing right before him.

* * *

 

Yuuri was rarely allowed to leave his room.

At birth, he was taken away from his home because he was deemed the next Zephemera Incarnate. He was revered by many, and his name might very well go down in history. His only memories have been of living in the church. What he knew of the world was what he read in historical books, or what he could gather from his knightly friend. Most of his time was spent in his room, his nose in a book, or looking from his window. _Most_ of his time yes, but not all. On rare occasions, such as holidays, Yuuri made public appearances. Never spoke, though; only stood silently with his staff in hand while the High Priestess gave her sermon. Everyone only ever looked at him with awe during these times, but thank god they were few and far between. He was never allowed to show his face; he wore a ceremonial robe with a hood that masked his face. The High Priestess insisted it was for his safety, but it made it impossible to view the world clearly. Thank god they weren’t the only times Yuuri left his tower.

Yuuri was spending his afternoon like all others—a book in hand and a glass of water on his side table. He liked to consider himself a book collector, although what he could get his hands on was severely limited to how well he could hide it. He loved to escape into the fantasy and romantic life, but he kept many historical books, several of which were banned reading materials in Zephemera. They were printed with false titles and coverings to hide their illegal contents, but Yuuri enjoyed perusing them nonetheless. It gave him a view of the outside world—of countries far away and their history written unbiasedly native hands. If a normal person were caught with these books, they could be executed immediately. Yuuri might get a slap on the wrist. However, he had to keep these books hidden or else his best friend and supplier might face the severe consequences in his steed. But, as it was, Yuuri hardly had anyone important in his room, not long enough to investigate it anyway. It gave Yuuri more time to escape into other realms, be it in a nonfiction book of rulers past, or a comedy taking place in Cyrean.

Yuuri had always toyed with the idea of writing his own books one day. He lacked the confidence to share anything he’d ever written, though—that and his clientele would be limited to maybe two people.

He had books from all over the world, but his current muse was a Kaimeran author who wrote romantic tragedies. The author’s most recent work was about a Kaimeran fox girl named Ki Jiao who attended a feast with the gods and fell in love with a demigod. However, they lived in two separate worlds; her unearthly lover resided in the heavens and she was still a mortal on earth. In the end, Zahara the demigod begged Kaimera for a way to see her lover. Kaimera gave Zahara a passageway to the mortal world once a month, every full moon, but she must return before the night is over lest she be stripped of her godly powers and die.

Yuuri had _loved_ the book. It had been such a good read that he couldn’t put it down the entire day, and now that he’d finished it he felt kind of empty. It was going to be part of a series, but its sequel had yet to be written of course. If it was anything like the author’s previous works, of course, there would be no happy ending. At the very least Yuuri could hope for a bittersweet one, right?

He fell back on his bed, book clutched to his chest, and sighed. His spectacles, which he had to wear anytime he wanted to look at something up close, had been discarded to the bedside table. In the end, he wanted Ki Jiao and Zahara to have the ending they deserved, but to trifle in the affairs of gods never ended well. In the end, Zahara fell asleep with Ki Jiao and never woke up. A man who wanted Ki Jiao’s hand in marriage soon found out about her affair with another woman, a demigod of all things, and in his misguided pride poisoned Zahara in hopes that her mortal half would suffer to it. In the end it was not the poison that killed Zahara, but the sleep that she was put in.

Ki Jiao, distraught, killed the fool and then sought to take her own life in hopes to join Zahara in the afterlife, but she failed and instead found herself in a similar situation as before; a mortal in the realm of the gods. It’s said that anyone who brushes with death and lives would glimpse into Uzimara’s domain of the underworld before being brought back. Ki Jiao had done this not once, but twice, and she is now on a quest to ask the god Uzimara himself to bring Zahara back to life, or else her lover’s soul will be lost to the realm. But Ki Jiao must be careful as well, because if she lingers in the underworld too long she will not be able to leave. Yuuri found himself wondering what could possibly happen next, of how Ki Jiao’s quest will fare. She is fictional and at the whims of tragedy, Yuuri reminds himself, but he hopes nonetheless that Ki Jiao is reunited with her loved one.

The sudden knocking at his door brought Yuuri out of his imagination. He sat up and called for Phichit to come in. No one else could possibly be visiting him at this time.

“Yuuri, sorry I’m late.” Phichit took off his helm and set it down on the side table. “I got held up outside the gates.”

“It’s alright,” Yuuri said, then held up the book. “It gave me time to finish reading.”

“You finished already? I just brought that book yesterday. You know I probably won’t be able to bring anymore for a while.” Phichit lamented. Phichit didn’t hail from Aeracross, or even from Uzimara. He was born and raised in southern Zephemera and had served in the military for a time, but his admirable fighting prowess gave him a spot in the church’s royal guard. Eventually, Phichit became one of Yuuri’s personal guards, and the only person who he could really consider a friend. Yuuri, having never explored his own country before, enjoyed hearing Phichit’s stories of his homeland. Phichit’s wings were a lovely and vibrant blue, but as mandated were always pinioned close behind his back. “Kingfisher” was the name, if Yuuri remembered correctly.

“That’s alright; I think I’ll enjoy rereading this one over and over.” Yuuri brought the book back to his chest and sighed once more, much to the bemusement of Phichit.

“Oh that reminds me,” He said, smile falling. “I have some more news.”

Yuuri felt his smile drop. “Was there another battle? Has the peace already come to an end?” If it was in fact another battle, it meant Yuuri would have to bless the field. This was one of the only times Yuuri didn’t like to leave. He could never handle the stench of all the blood, and even though they were removed, the smell of the corpses always hung in the air like death. But he could never live with himself if those poor tortured souls couldn’t pass on to the afterlife.

“I know, but it’s good to know about what’s going on in the world.” Phichit said, sighing. Yuuri nodded, setting his book down, and listened to what his friend had to say.

* * *

“They simply _left_ their bodies there?” Yuuri asked, covering his mouth in disgust.

“Yep. It’s customary to leave their bodies to rot as a reminder to rebels and enemies.”

“That’s awful! They should at least be given a proper burial.” Yuuri argued.

“I agree with you, Yuuri,” Phichit said, hands up and trying to placate his friend. “But there’s nothing we can do.” Phichit stood there awkwardly for a moment, carding a single fallen blue feather between his fingers. “Why don’t you… tell me about your book? It must have been a good read.”

“Okay…” Yuuri conceded, figuring it was good to change the topic. There was nothing Phichit could do, but Yuuri had an idea of something _he_ could do.

While he was rarely allowed to leave his room, sometimes he left without permission. It was only very recently that he started sneaking out, and he’d only done it a handful of times. Well, perhaps more than a handful—but what was the harm in it? He loved visiting the night market and purchasing an assortment of things, things he hid even from Phichit. However it was becoming harder and harder to hide them as they grew in number. But he’d never been caught so far, so there was no reason to stop.

After Yuuri had finished talking to Phichit, and the latter took up his post outside of his door, he had to wait. The sun had long been set and Yuuri had extinguished his magic-run bedside light. Magic-based power was a new concept to the large cities of Aeracross and Thusom, but of course the church was one of the first recipients. Anyway, it was late enough that Phichit would start to get tired, and Yuuri needed only to wait until he heard snoring to know his friend was in a deep sleep. Most of the knights that watched Yuuri on a night shift slept through most of it. Nothing ever happened, and most did not fear of attack; the security was a formality. Yuuri quickly dressed into more common clothes and slipped on his hooded robe. Most of his clothing was ceremonial, and he’d been told even his normal wear was hand tailored. The simple trousers and button up had done him good the first few excursions, but this was simply because no one recognized Yuuri or thought he was old enough to join the military. Afterwards, Yuuri had been smart enough to invest in a cloak. It was not uncommon to see a descendant—they were easy to point out, wingless and often wearing a pitched hood. It was useful for hiding himself in plain sight; people naturally avoided him and it hid his face, although he’d never shown it in public to begin with.

“Sorry Phichit.” Yuuri whispered as he eased the door open and slipped out. The top floor of the tower was empty save for Yuuri and Phichit. During the day it was a different guard, and on some days the night guard was different, but it didn’t make things much different. At the end of the hall was a tapestry depicting the goddess Zephemera—but behind it was a stone door that blended into the wall. Yuuri carefully slid the fabric aside, slid the stone door open carefully, and backed into the passageway. It was supposed to be used as an escape route in case the church had ever been attacked or seize. Of course none of these things had ever happened.

The passageway led to a sewer grate just outside of the church’s gates. Yuuri waited and listened for footsteps, and when he heard none, lifted the opening enough to slide out.

And that’s how easy it was.

Now, Yuuri was more than accustomed to stealing off to the night markets, but he’d never been outside the city before. True, he was only going to the inner wall’s forest, but the thought was making him giddy with excitement or nervousnous or both. Anyone was allowed into the forestry surrounding Aeracross, but anyone who wanted to go in or out of the city needed some sort of permit allotting them access. _It’s just to the forest and back, that’s all_ , Yuuri reminded himself, tugging his hood further on to his head.

At the city bridge, soldiers standing guard saluted him. It was common; any Descendant in Aeracross was assumed to be an influential member of the military, because every Descendant was required to join the military at the age of sixteen. Yuuri nodded to them casually, continuing on the road. He walked for a bit before turning sharply to the west, the feeling of unrest and death hanging over him potently in the air. The forest was a long way off from the main road, but the closer he got to the woods, the stronger the stench of death and decay was. Yuuri had to stop for a moment to shield his nose when he got to the bodies. On the battlefields, most of the bodies would be gathered and laid shoulder to shoulder in preparation for burial, but Yuuri would cast his blessing from the other end. This was much different, and much more unpleasant.

But he could feel the potency of the unrest of the five human souls. They swirled around him, and their sorrow made him want to burst out in tears. This here? This was how cursed forests were born.

Yuuri reached within his cloak and pulled his short ceremonial staff out. He needed to get this over with.  He held the staff up, like it was a beacon for the heavens, and called for Zephemera to hear his plea and help these souls pass on. Like always, he felt the negative energy gather to his staff, and with the goddess’ power he cleansed it and released it back onto the site. All he could do was bless the site and give the spirits the opportunity to pass on. What happened next was up to them. Yuuri hardly used his magic for any reason than ceremonies; it seemed selfish to use the goddess’ powers for trivial matters. Well, that and he’d never been tempted before.

“Gods, the smell though…” Yuuri stepped into the trees and gathered a breath of air. It was different, smelling decay from afar rather than right next to it. The bodies had only been out for half a day, yet they stunk regardless. It was the warm season, and although the nights were cool the temperature was high regardless. Perhaps another time Yuuri would come back with a shovel and give them a burial…

The night was still, and yet he could feel something wrong with it.

He tensed, feeling the skin on the back of his neck raise. Someone was watching him. Drawing his hood further on to his head, he spun around and searched the forest, quieting himself and listening. He heard labored breathing, and followed the sound with his eyes. Icy blue eyes met his, and as he stepped closer, he saw the blood and pallor of the man in front of him. His leg was wounded and he was dying… was he one of the rebels?

As Yuuri inched carefully closer, slowly bringing his spectacles from around his neck up onto his face. The man made no moves to stop him. Yuuri realized this man was a Descendant—no wings or fur to tell his race, and a badly ripped cloak covering him. Still, his silver hair, which stuck to his face in sweaty clumps ,was not the customary inky Uzimaran black.

“Did you come here to kill me?” The man asked, his Zephemeran heavily accented and groggy.

Yuuri shook his head. It was unspoken in the walls of Aeracross, but if Phichit’s demeanor (a church knight, mind you) was a judge for the whole city, no one could sympathize with the war any longer. Not unless you could benefit from it. Yuuri could never see the benefit in senseless violence, from either side, but he knew the connotation the rebels took even in these unhappy walls. ‘So much as breathing the word,’ Wrote one scholar, ‘Could get one’s entire family a spot on the gallows.’ All of her writing was banned, but that’s not the point. It was grave to help a rebel, even in Yuuri’s position, but he would not turn and walk away from someone dying right in front of him. What no one ever knew could ever hurt them. 

“No, I want to help you.” He set his staff down in the dirt beside him and brought his hands up. A soft glow as he drew healing magic surrounded his hands. Incarnates were said to hold the power of the gods for many reasons—one of them being that they didn’t need to draw a magic source from any of the standard places—it was said the four gods gave them their powers directly, and that the channels Descendants used were simply mediums to said gods. Yuuri’s source was unfiltered. With his magic, he could do what far ancient legends wrote of. He saw exactly what was wrong with the man in front of him—the wound was soon to become infected and he’d lost too much blood to survive anyway. There was also some sort of poison flowing through his veins, and it was restricting his healing process somehow. Carefully, so he didn’t surprise the other, Yuuri set his hand down on the other’s leg in order to heal the wound.

Yuuri heard the man gasp, but he didn’t stop as he felt the wound not only close, but completely begin heal itself. There would be no scar when he’s done. Looking up, he held his other hand out further. The silver haired man, eyes still dazed, figured that Yuuri was trying to take his hand. The man was hesitant, but took the hand. Yuuri closed his eyes and allowed the goddess’ magic to flow into the man, so that he’d have the strength to move and replace his blood loss and attack the poison. When he finished, there was not even a mark to signify damage had taken place. Finally, he picked his staff back up, but stayed kneeling next to the man.

“…Why?” The man asked him, looking up at Yuuri through clear eyes. Yuuri looked up, glad to see the color had returned to his face with his magic working through his veins.

“Why what?” Yuuri asked.

“You know what.” He asked, strength also fully returned to his voice, but his accent was still strong. It wasn’t something Yuuri could recognize, but if this man was a rebel he might want to consider strengthening his Zephemeran.

“If I were an evil person,” The man started, and Yuuri realized their hands were still connected as the man stood, bringing Yuuri up with him. The latter was about to pull away, but the silver-haired man tightened his grip. “I would kill you the second my strength returned.”

Yuuri stood as well, the pressure on his hand threatening but not painful. He was uncomfortably close to the man, enough to note the other man’s height and build. He had a lean figure and several inches on Yuuri. “I don’t think you look like an evil person.”

“Looks can be deceiving. I’ve been told I’m a good actor.”

“But if you’re evil like you say, wouldn’t you have done it already?” Yuuri pointed out. “You wouldn’t take the time to warn me in the first place, right?”

“Oh…” He put his other hand to his chin pensively. “Haha!” He laughed suddenly. “You do have a point. But still,” He let go of Yuuri’s hand; his happiness was short-lived, and he was serious again. “Why would you save my life? You came out here knowing I must be the enemy and yet… You chanced that I might be a good person? You must know that I’m trying to overthrow your kingdom, right?”

“I… couldn’t bring myself to leave you lying there like that. I didn’t really consider whether you were a bad person or not, and I don’t really care that you’re a rebel. You’ve every right to live…” Yuuri trailed off, not sure where he was going with his sentence any more. There was no right or wrong answer to this, it just felt _right_. “I had the power to do so, so why shouldn’t I? You could’ve died without my help, so…”

“…So I should be thanking you. If only the whole world thought like you.” The man took a step forward, and Yuuri instinctively stepped back. “Wait, what’s your name? Who are you? I have to repay you for saving my life.”

“No, there’s no need. It’s better if you take care of yourself from here.” Yuuri stepped further to the edge of the forest. If he didn’t get back soon, Phichit might wake up and notice Yuuri was gone, ruining his plan.

“When will I see you again?”

Yuuri stopped, surprised by the question.

“What do you mean?” He asked in return.

“I’m a man with an honest nature, surprisingly.” The silver-haired man said with a grin, eyes sparkling like gems under the moonlight. “Just let me pay you back for your troubles.” The man stepped even closer, and Yuuri felt himself drawn into those eyes for a second, and his charming smile. The silver-haired man reached for his hands, and Yuuri let him take them. 

“I was on the precipice of the underworld, and you brought me back with just a touch. How could I not want to see you again?”

“I…” Yuuri found himself at a loss for words, not knowing how to respond. Had this man simply come from an intimate culture? Or was he outright courting Yuuri? No, perhaps he sincerely wanted to express his thanks, but Yuuri felt his heart jumping to excitement anyway. His world was being captivated by those alarmingly soft eyes; they were a mixture of curiosity and charm.

“Who are you?” The man asked, and Yuuri reminded himself just exactly that.

No. Yuuri stopped himself from saying anything stupid. This man obviously had no idea who Yuuri was. If he ever found out, it would only mean trouble.

“No.” He shook his head, snatching his hands away and turning back to the fields. “No, I said it’s fine. We’ll probably never meet again, so there’s no need for you to worry about that. Goodbye.”

Yuuri had to chance that the man would not follow him out into the field. He may have had the strength to do so now, but the silver-haired man was covered in blood and dirt and was over all pretty suspicious-looking. Yuuri didn’t have time to humor his desire to speak with this strange man. Yuuri should be grateful to have Phichit to talk to, and his books to read. He was taking these excursions for granted; he was testing his luck.


	2. Promise of Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the amazing Vivid_Nemesis. I'd like to thank her for proofing my work and giving me some writing tips, definitely check her works out.

“You met an angel.” It wasn’t a question, more like her statement of disbelief. Lilia set down Viktor’s change of clothes before pulling a chair up to him. She raised a taloned hand and beckoned him forward. “Come; let me see your wounds.”

“I told you, they’re completely healed.” He lifted his bloody pant leg for her to see; not a scar was on him. “He healed my wounds.”

“This… angel you, say,” Lilia’s stony gaze was filled with skepticism and condescension. “Was he—?”

“No, no, I said he was _like_ an angel,” Viktor corrected. “He came out of the shadows like a specter, right as I was on my last breaths. Had it not been for his magic, I wouldn’t have made it back here, Lilia.”

She paused for a moment, looking down at his leg. Of course she had every right to be skeptical; even the best magic could not undo infections and heal without leaving so much as a scar. Magic was not completely understood from a scientific standpoint, but all theorists agreed on what it was. It was a force whose appearance and purposes could be manipulated depending on the user. In some cases it could be made tangible to create things like blinding blades of light, while others could use it intangibly to do things such as heal or call a flower to bloom. Its source was the gods themselves, and most could only wield a fraction of its power. Descendants had a conduit which increased their magical flow, and as such they could perform spectacular magical feats. But there were always limits, and completely reversing an injury with magic alone was unheard of to Lilia, at least by a single individual.

“Perhaps the fever caused you to hallucinate?” She asked. “Or maybe your wounds were not nearly as severe as you thought. Was the man accompanied by any one else?”

“No, none of that happened, I promise you,” Viktor said. After the hooded stranger left him in the forest, he was forced to sneak back into the city through a less than legal route. He couldn’t very well walk through the streets caked in blood and dirt, not after what just transpired at the plains, so he had to pay a sympathizer to let him use one of the sewers. “After he healed me, everything was clear as day. I was close to dying, Lilia. I wouldn’t have made it back here were it not for him.”

“Hm.” She placed a hand on her chin. “There’s nothing I can say, Viktor. You’ve come to me with questions I don’t have the answers to. For now, all we can do is wait for Yakov to get back with news. This attack will change our plans for some time, and we might not be able to leave Aeracross as soon as we’d hoped. With security at the wall’s gates, it could take us weeks or months to form a viable escape route.”

“Is that so bad?” Viktor asked. “In that time, we could recruit more members. Hell, in that time, we could take Aeracross.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Lilia cut in curtly. “We still haven’t found a viable method for killing the Incarnate. If Yakov does not come back to us with any information, what will we do then?”

“Brute force,” Viktor chimed in immediately.

“What a simplistic answer,” Lilia sighed. “I expected no less.”

“Simple, but viable. The Incarnates aren’t immortal, merely omnipotent. They do die from old age, so they should be able to die from a sword through the heart.”

“You can only say this because you’ve never seen an Incarnate in action. They can wreak havoc and raze entire cities to rubble. Performing miracles is only the light of their power. The best assassin might be able to sneak into the church without a problem. But what good is it if the Incarnate turns him to stone with a wave of their hand? It’s a wasted life and effort. We need a solid plan before we go rushing headlong to our deaths. Tell me, Viktor, do you know who the last Zephemeran Incarnate was?”

“…I don’t remember their name, but I do remember hearing of them. What does it matter? They were just another chess piece kept holed up in that palace of a church.”

“They were a chess piece, yes, but they were not living in the church. The last Incarnate did not even live on Zephemera’s mother lands, they lived on the far south Telt Archipelago. The lands were volcanic, and the inhabitants were people of the Phoenix tribe. The Incarnate was born there, but those islands had maintained their separation from the empire for centuries, warding off Uzimaran advances with magical barriers to keep their islands hidden from scope, along with the help of Cyrean. It took Uzimara over a decade to find these islands, and it was by chance that they did so. In that time, they fabricated an Incarnate to keep the masses unaware, and to maintain their semblance of power and control.

“No, it was not until the Uzimarans conquered the Ithcal islands and discovered Telt by extension. Uzimara immediately attempted to seize the islands, but as you can guess, that was when the raw power of the Incarnate decided to make itself known. At only eleven, the Incarnate was able to send ships sprawling to the depths of the ocean with tidal waves reported to have been taller than the island’s mountains. Aerial forces found themselves burning in midair, honestly the deaths were quite creative. Uzimara gave up their attack and waited out the Telt Incarnate’s lifespan. After the current Incarnate was properly confirmed, Uzimara spent all of its energy into colonizing Telt. Because of this, I… Viktor, are you even listening to me?”

Viktor snapped up into attention from his previous position with his chin resting on his palm. “Yes, of course I’m listening. But Ithcal has been freed, and it doesn’t matter what the previous one was like, we should focus on this one.”

Lilia sighed, rubbing the area between her eyebrows. “Killing the Incarnate is not as easy as killing a general, or even assassinating a monarch. One could consider your success in Ithcal child’s play compared to the daunting task of murdering an Incarnate. For all we know, we may bring down the wrath of the gods themselves. Who can say for sure? But it’s nothing we can plan about until we have more intel, so relax for now. ”

Lilia stood up, pushing in her chair setting the clothes closer to Viktor. “I’ll tend the bar. Wash and get some rest; you’ve had a long night. Not to mention, you smell like shit.” She turned to the door, but stopped. “Also, Viktor. Don’t let what happened today wear on your conscious. You did all you could do, and in the end you’re lucky to be alive right now. You have made a dire miscalculation, but in war if you let all of your mistakes hold you back, your victory will be forever out of reach. Use this failure as a lesson for future growth.”

“I know, Lilia.” But the reminder still stung. Viktor had tried not to let his regret and grief show, but Lilia was one of the few that always saw through his masks.

Lilia nodded, eyes still unsure, as she left the room. Viktor stood and walked over to the wash basin. The safe house he was in sat behind a bar front. It wasn’t the main base of operations, but Lilia was closest and a trusted comrade—no, she was more than that. She was an Uzimaran woman with impressive lime-green wings, often kept in restrictive belts called pinions. Nowadays, one couldn’t fly in Uzimara or Zephemera unless they had a permit or they lived in the countryside. For any Uzimaran like Lilia with an extensive wingspan it was undoubtedly painful. But he’d seen her in flight a couple times, and during those times she’d been brandishing a sword and cutting down enemies like it was nothing.

She and Yakov had taught Viktor all he knew when it came to the art of the sword, and although the two were separated, they’d been like parents since he joined the revolution. With Yakov and Lilia Viktor had been all around the world, from Cyrean to Kaimera, and now Uzimara and Zephemera. Among the rebels, Viktor had become a face of heroism when Cyrean took back the territory of Ithcal from Uzimaran rule, and now he would see himself go down in history when the rebel army took both Thusom and Aeracross in one fell swoop. No, when he ended the entire _war_ in one fell swoop! True, its ending would not be so ‘simplistic,’ as Lilia put it. But with both major warheads taken over, Uzimara and Zephemera would soon fall.

The only problem that stood in their way now was the daunting task of killing not one, but _two_ practical-demigods. The rebel army had tried asking their allies of the Cyreani church for the answer to an Incarnate’s weakness, but got no answer, for the church feared their secret might be used against them. Now Lilia and Yakov had to find other channels, and currently they were attempting to get the latter in as a member of the clergy. That operation had started almost a year ago, and they were making no headway, even with Yakov masquerading as a church minister.

In an attempt to increase numbers in both Aeracross and Thusom on the odd chance that Yakov came through, Viktor had gone about recruiting young rebels and descendants who had yet to join the military. They were the young sort, not yet of age, but vibrant and willing to bring about change to a life that only saw poverty and sorrow. Now Viktor had gone and gotten five of them killed.

He shook his head, remembering what Lilia had told him. If he continued to blame himself he would be stuck in the past. He needed to think of something else, after all the revolution was about the future.

His mind strayed back to that hooded man. He wielded incredible healing power, power that if turned violent could cause immense damage, but from beneath that man’s hood he saw the most soft and gentle eyes. Then, all too soon, he was leaving, promising that they’d never meet again.

_But he has to be in this city_ , Viktor thought. Viktor had watched the man return back through the city’s main entrance. Aeracross was large and expansive, but a descendant was born one to every one thousand. If Viktor searched hard enough, he’d find him, and taking solace in this was the only thing that put him to sleep.

* * *

When Viktor woke, he had no bearing over what time it was, but he felt too well-rested. The back room he was in had no windows, for obvious reasons, but once he was dressed and into the main part of the building, he saw that it was closing in on midday.

“A timepiece sure would be nice,” Viktor said to an empty bar. Lilia walked through the door, broom and dustpan in hand.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked.

“No one,” Viktor said, stretching. “I’m going out today.”

Lilia set the broom and pan behind the bar, and then turned on him with a disapproving glare.

“Out? Out where?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“Just a romp on the town.”

“After what just happened? And what if a soldier recognizes you? It would be preferable if you lay low in Aeracross. Your face isn’t as famous as in Cyrean yet; we’d better keep it that way.”

“Relax, I’ll have my cloak on!” Viktor brought the material up and over his head. “People won’t look twice when they see a Descendant walking down the streets.”

“This doesn’t make me feel any better.” Her nose was upturned in that same condescending gaze. “You’re going to go look for that man, aren’t you?”

“An… impromptu search may occur.” Viktor shrugged with a sheepish grin, but Lilia was not amused in the slightest.

“Your obsession is worrying me, Viktor. I might ask if you are in love with this stranger.”

“ _Love_? I can’t say for sure. Wouldn’t _you_ be instantly enamored by someone who’s saved your life?!” Viktor said, putting a hand over his heart. “But I just feel it in my heart… I have to see him again!” 

Lilia sighed. “Why are you always so dramatic? I won’t stop you from searching, but remember that your duty to these people comes before whatever plea your heart makes.”

“Of course, Lilia. I’ll see you before the night is over!” Viktor said before stepping outside, glad to be free of her lecture.

The streets of Aeracross were not as familiar to him as Thusom’s were, but he wouldn’t let that deter him. They were very similar in some ways though; Viktor could never get used to the wide streets and towering buildings. Everything about the cities were big, even the doorways were wide to accommodate those with expansive wingspans. Back in Cyrean, a lot of people did not bear wings, and those that did had wings that clung close to their bodies. Wings in Kaimera were almost completely unheard of.

It was hard for Viktor not to admire the architecture as he moved, but he needed to make haste. There would be a handful of Descendants patrolling the streets in similar ways to Viktor; during these ephemeral times of peace their purpose was to instill fear in the people with their presence alone. When the warring era stars up once more, they would play the role of skilled tactical elites, carrying out inhuman feats. Assassins of military generals, fearsome animals on the battlefield… their stories preceded them, and fear of the person beneath the cloak was real. Viktor would rather not cause fear to the people; he hopes that one day war would be a distant memory, and the Descendants just another type of civilian. But for now, he had to use the averted gazes and avoidance that his cloak gave him.

Viktor kept his hood up but his eyes forward and scanning the streets. He was going to circle around the main market areas and shops first, look for those individuals who kept to the shadows to deter thieves. In St. Agrol’s plaza, there was one that Viktor saw, but he could tell it was not the same person. Even from this distance, he could tell the person leaning against the cobblestone building had too feminine a build, and the long brown hair peaking beneath their hood was a dead giveaway. Viktor moved on, his search continued.

* * *

His search was fruitless. Viktor had come across a grand total of five other Descendants in Aeracross, not an unbelievable number, but none of them had been that mysterious hooded man. Still, he did not give up hope. The Descendants outside had to be Zephemerans, at night the Uzimarans would patrol when their strength was greatest. Viktor could wait.

He spent the afternoon in Lilia’s bar sketching. His book had been filled with pictures of Makkachin, but occasionally he drew the Uzimaran and Zephemeran landscape. The countryside had been beautiful all those times in passing, so of course Viktor was driven to sketch them. Viktor tapped the tweed-bound stylus on his chin, now he faced another beauty to drawn.

Viktor could close his eyes and remember the soft warm eyes and gently sloping cheekbones, but when he put the idea to paper it seemed too wrong. Paper wasn’t always the cheapest, yet he could never seem to get the details just right.

“Agh!” He stopped himself from ripping out the second sheet. He set the book down behind the bar, pencil on top, and hopped off. The sun was setting, and soon Viktor would be leaving.

* * *

 

Yuuri brought the pages of the book to his nose and took a deep breath. It was a good book so far, and its pages smelled wonderful.

“Why do you always do that?” Phichit asked, stretched out on Yuuri’s floor. His wings were out of their pinion and carpeting the floor in his vibrant blue. Phichit was still in his light but nevertheless awkward armor, and Yuuri had warned his friend that getting up would be an insurmountable challenge. But damn it, Phichit was going to get comfortable on the floor even if it killed him. Yuuri however, preferred the comfort of his bed and his mountain of books to the stone floor.

“Why I always sniff the books?” Yuuri asked.

“Yes!” Phichit leaned up on his elbows, accompanied by a loud and jarring scrape of metal. “You look stupid when you do it.”

“I do _not_. I always sniff the books to see if they’re good books or not,” Yuuri defended himself.

“How does sniffing them determine whether or not the book is good?”

“Well,” Yuuri paused, holding up _Martha’s Scale_. “They usually have that distinct smell, like they’ve been well handled and the ink is good, I guess? And if it’s a used book, it’s been well read, and you can tell its history and where it’s been. A bad book is a used one that smells like fresh ink.”

“So you’re breathing in other people’s hands?” Phichit flopped back down on to the floor.

“No! You don’t get it, you don’t sniff the books often enough.”

“I don’t sniff books _at all_ ,” Phichit said, before adding: “’Cause I’m not weird.”

Yuuri reached for his quill and aimed it at Phichit. Not being an archer, he missed of course, but caused his friend to flinch out of the way, knocking over a stack of books with his wings in the process.

Yuuri loved the nights like this, where the church was quiet, and he and Phichit spent their time lying around and talking about whatever came to mind. Phichit was not a particularly avid reader; his time usually monopolized by his training and work in the military. A knight of the church was a privilege all its own, but Phichit had very little free time unless he was with Yuuri. He didn’t read many books, but their conversations never faltered because he knew so much on topics Yuuri had no idea about. Unfortunately, Phichit was grossly ignorant in the art of sniffing books.

“Hey, Yuuri?” Phichit piped up after a few moments of comfortable silence between the two.

“Hm?”

“Have you ever sniffed a book that smelled like manure?”

Yuuri threw another quill.

“ _I’m just asking!_ What if it smells like the manure they use in the gardens? Does that mean the book is terrible? Or just a _very_ good book?” Phichit caught another quill in his hands, holding back laughter as Yuuri searched for something else to throw.

* * *

“Hey, Phichit?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of the rebellion?”

Phichit sat up, bringing his voice down to a whisper as if his fellow knights would burst in and detain him.

“Why are you asking something like _that_ all of a sudden? Is it because of what happened yesterday?”

“…Something like that, yeah.”

“Agh, Yuuri.” Phichit lied back down. “You can’t ask difficult questions like that out of the blue.” He sat silent for a moment, thinking.

“Well, I suppose I can’t hate the Ebon Wings for doing what they do. Things are tough, and a lot of people believe that if the war is over everyone will be happy.”

“But you sound like you don’t believe that.”

“I don’t really know. I try not to think too hard about these kinds of things but… If we’ve never known true peace, how do we know it will be better? I don’t think it’s possible for there not to be fighting and unrest.”

“Carole Signright would disagree with you.” Yuuri said, holding up _Martha’s Scale_. The outside was harmless romance, but the inside was pure heretic conjecture. “She says that all humans are born innately peaceful, but that outside influencers like money and land are what drive us to war and violence.”

“ _Exactly_. Money and land aren’t going to suddenly disappear, even if the rebels win. People will want different things, you know? Cyreani people aren’t going to suddenly forgive Uzimarans for everything they’ve done and vice-versa.”

“But perhaps.” Yuuri closed the book, marking the page with his thumb. “Some people think anything could be better than constant war.”

“Yuuri, we should leave the political debate to the outlawed and executed authors,” Phichit said, letting a feather fall from his hand to the floor. “These books are thought-provoking and good for conjecture, but at the end of the day they’re just that: _conjecture_. People have always rebelled in the past, both in Uzimara _and_ in Cyrean, but they’ve never gotten anywhere. You shouldn’t waste your time and effort by brooding on a subject people have spent a millennia on. If the war was meant to end, then it will end, but I’m more than happy to let it happen naturally. People who rebel aren’t getting themselves anywhere; it’s better to just let things play out and happen on their own, rather than cause more needless bloodshed. You shouldn’t try and wrap your head around something ridiculous like overthrowing a government.”

Yuuri was quiet again, before reopening the book. “You’re right… maybe I should finish this book first,” Yuuri said, and the room was yet again filled with Phichit’s fidgeting and Yuuri carding through pages.

“Hey, Phichit?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“ _What_?” Phichit sat up again, a few feathers flying about him. “What is with all the crazy questions?”

“I’m just curious,” Yuuri said defensively.

“ _You_ should answer _me_ that. You were almost crying over that story about Ki Jiao yesterday. Ki Jiao this, Ki Jiao that.”

“ _I was not_ ,” Yuuri huffed. “Still, I’m afraid I’ll never know if I fall in love, or if I’ll mistake it for something else. It’s one thing to read over and over about the passions of the heart, but how will you ever know it’s true?”

“ _Hm_.” Phichit took a sharp breath and plopped back down on the floor. “Well, I asked my mother something like that when I was younger. She said that falling in love isn’t always the same for everyone. Sometimes it’s all at once, other times it’s little by little. She said that some love isn’t always the same, that you might feel for someone strongly, but not in the way that makes you want to kiss them? I dunno. She also said that some may never fall in love, but that this isn’t a bad thing, and that others feel stronger when they’re alone. My mother said love was doing stupid things for stupid reasons. My mother had an answer for everything, honestly.”

Phichit rarely talked about his mother, and Yuuri didn’t pry even when he wanted to know more about his friend’s family. Most who were drafted into the military did not do so willingly, and Phichit was no exception. He hadn’t seen his family in years, and the aptitude he showed as a soldier cemented his position in the army. That was another thing Yuuri did not pry about: Phichit had fought in battles before, and so very few remained unchanged after such an experience.

So, Yuuri let that conversation die there, and they moved on to other topics until it had gotten late. It was getting around the time Yuuri allowed himself to sneak out last night… He’d been successful in keeping his mind worlds away from the silver-haired man; his books were engrossing and Phichit had always been fun to talk to. Left with his own thoughts, however, Yuuri was fearful; even between Carole’s intriguing theories his mind was wandering.

Soon, Phichit was already taking his leave to get some rest in the hallway. Yuuri didn’t stop him.

He sat back on his bed, book open in his lap as he let his mind go where it pleased. He was straining himself now, trying to keep his thoughts anywhere but last night.

He could not— _would_ not humor a fantasy of a stranger, let alone a literal _rebel_. Yuuri had come to terms long ago with the fact that he could never truly have a private life of his own. Perhaps, until the day he died, he would be under the watchful gaze of the church. Yet still, his mind reminded him of the silver-haired man’s warm hands, of his clear gaze that sought to capture Yuuri right then and there. Yuuri reminded himself of Ki Jiao and Zahara; the situation was different yet similar. Many believe that Incarnates became demigods upon death, with a place alongside the gods when they entered the underworld.

A demigod and a heretic. It was a romantic tragedy waiting to happen, and surely someone would have fun reading such a story. But Yuuri had no room for fantasies in his life, let alone a strange rebel. The adrenaline he felt, perhaps, was from the fear that came along with the unknown. Yuuri could not allow himself to get so carried away. At twenty-three, his life was set in stone and there was no room for love with _anyone_. Ki Jiao was a tragedy because she had fallen in love with someone who was worlds away. She was fictional, but Yuuri would not let her history transpire in his.

Yuuri stood from his bed and began to pick up the few fallen feathers on his floor. He let them flutter out of his window, and then stooped down to gather his stacks of books. Yuuri placed them neatly under his bed, but he stopped when his hand brushed against something.

Yuuri’s cloak was always folded neatly underneath his bed, and in the short time Yuuri spent to his thoughts, Phichit could be heard snoring loudly.

His heart and mind would not sit still, and now his feet wouldn’t either.

* * *

 

The night had been fruitful of hooded Descendants. None of which were Viktor’s target, however. The evening was thoroughly wasted, and Viktor’s morale was thoroughly crushed. He stood now with a shovel in hand as he walked the forest’s edge in search of the forsaken corpses. He pushed back his hood when the smell of decomposition became strong. The buzzing of flies, scattered by his presence, felt deafening. He set the shovel to lean on a nearby tree and took out his gloves. Digging would occupy his mind, Viktor thought as he set the head into the dirt and began making the hole.

It would occupy his mind with more thoughts! He thought of continuing his search in the city later, but brushed the idea aside when he realized how much sleep he was going to lose over a stranger. It was as Lilia said, that the troubles of the heart came second to everything else. But could he be blamed? Would you not fall in love with a stranger if they saved you at your dying breaths? Would you not search for at least one more glimpse of the mystery that left your heart racing?

“…Stupid handsome men in cloaks,” Viktor said to the dirt as he began making the hole wider instead of deeper. Lilia and Yakov were always telling him how dramatic he was, and how he was too much of a romantic. If anything this was a compliment to Viktor. It was his fanciful thoughts of freedom that helped him set the Ithcal territories free. Time in the revolution had hardened Viktor—he’d seen the unsavory hands of violence and torture numerous times. But he refused to let it take away his imagination, nor his hunger the finer things in life. One day, while he was still alive, this world would know peace.

The digging was arduous, and were he not a Cyreani Descendant it might’ve taken him all night to dig a grave large enough. It wasn’t going to be anything grandiose, and Viktor was indeed a Cyreani Descendant. The magic from the night before still ran pure and powerful in his veins, filling him with strength. With this, he called upon the familiar forest and used its reservoir at its full potential. It took him perhaps two hours to get the grave as deep as it needed to be, and then he began stacking the bodies in. The temperate climate next to the lake made the bodies stink even worse up close, and maggots had already hatched and taken root. The smelled terrible from afar, and at close range Viktor was holding his nose and praying for his sense of smell to cease.

When they were all stacked and done, he brushed dirt back over the holes, glad to be done. The smell still hung heavy in the air, but the source was gone at least.

“My you rest in Uzimara’s arms,” Viktor said his short prayer before setting the shovel down. He plopped down on a sizeable rock and looked up to the sky. It was late; the crescent moon was high in the sky, but when he’d set foot out here the sky was still tinged with color. He should have been making his way back into the city so he could rest with Lilia and plan their next move, yet instead he kept staring at the stars.

_Perhaps_ , he mused for a moment. _Perhaps if I wait… he will show?_

The hooded man had promised they would never see each other again, and now it was looking to be true despite Viktor’s best efforts.

Viktor waited, but apparently fortune did not wish to test his patience. The forest’s darkness may have dimmed his surroundings, but the cloaked figure approaching him could be no other than yesterday’s mystery.

Neither one of them said anything at first. The hooded man had most of his face covered; avoiding eye contact, but Viktor took the first step forward. When he didn’t step away, Viktor proceeded to take another.

“I didn’t think you would come back,” Viktor said, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t think I would either,” The hooded man replied, much to Viktor’s chagrin.

Viktor took another step forward, but that had been too close, and the hooded man retreated. He was more on edge than yesterday, but Viktor was far too excited to act coy himself. He still couldn’t see the other’s face, so Viktor lowered his own hood and tilted his head to the side to get a better look under his cowl.

“Are you here to brooding and mysterious? Or are you here to be adorable and stuttering, like yesterday?” he asked.

“E-Excuse me?!” the hooded man took a step backwards in shock, lifting his head up now so Viktor could see those warm eyes, wide with surprise.

“Adorable it is, then,” Viktor announced.

“Adorable? Why…?” the hooded man looked genuinely confused, as if Viktor was a strange animal performing a mating dance (not far off).

“If you’ve come back to this place,” Viktor felt his smile widen. “Then you must have wanted to see me again, right?”

“No, that’s not it at all.” He had regained some of his composure back, but the mystery man made a point to pull his hood farther down. “I had… come to bury the dead.”

“…With your bare hands?” Viktor pointed out.

“Oh! Um,” the hooded man looked down at his hands as if they were traitors. Viktor couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Let me guess.” Viktor put a finger to his lips in thought. “You don’t really have a reason, but you felt drawn here, didn’t you?”

“…As if… I couldn’t resist the urge,” the hooded man finished, nodding. “I shouldn’t have come back here, and I was secretly hoping you wouldn’t be here. Yet I still found myself donning my cloak and coming out tonight.”

“I, at least, had a good excuse,” Viktor pointed out. “But without a doubt, I knew I had to find you again,” he admitted. “I spent all of today searching the streets for you, and then a better half of this evening.”

The hooded man shook his head. “You wouldn’t find me in the streets.”

“Then where would I find you?” Viktor asked, gambling and taking a step forward. The man either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “What is your name? Where can I find you?”

The hooded man shook his head again.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.” Viktor barely restrained a crestfallen expression to steal across his face.

“Then… can you take off your hood?” Yet he still persisted. The hooded man looked up, then opened his mouth as if to deny, but to Viktor’s surprise he began to slowly pull it back. Messy black bangs fell into his face, and he looked up completely now. His eyes looked pensive, but how much of that was because he was not wearing spectacles, Viktor didn’t know. He did know his breath had left him immediately. The hint at warm eyes he saw earlier was nothing compared to seeing his face completely underneath the moonlight. Viktor forced himself to memorize every detail, but realized his open gawking had caused the man to pull his hood back up.

“Wait…” Viktor found himself saying, hand raised in protest. A slight blush was covering the hooded man’s cheeks, endearing him even more to Viktor.

“Even if you won’t tell me your name…” Viktor felt his smile return. “I want you to know mine.”

“No, you don’t need to tell me.”

“But I want to anyway.” As the hooded man averted his gaze, Viktor took a step to the side, meeting his eyes again. “May I?”

“Why? Why are you so forward?” the hooded man asked suddenly. “You hardly know me, yet you keep acting like you want to know me. I’m a complete stranger, and I’ve done nothing to gain your trust! Why are you so strange?”

“Ha!” Viktor pushed his hair back and started laughing, absolutely tickled. “Well this feels familiar, doesn’t it?

“Perhaps because I see a good person in you. A person I want to know even better. The point of meeting strangers is to make friends out of them, isn’t it? I know there must be some reason that you can’t tell me about yourself, but I know you must be a trustworthy person. Untrustworthy people don’t go around saving lives for no reason. And, perhaps I don’t need a truly good reason to want to know you. Perhaps there is no correct reason, except that it feels right.”

The hooded man jerked his head up, cowl almost falling back as he looked Viktor dead in the eyes. Viktor almost felt himself stumble at the resolve in his gaze, but he kept strong.

“What… what _is_ your name?” he asked finally.

“Viktor.”

“Viktor…” the hooded man repeated his name, and Viktor felt that he might faint right then and there. It sounded like music coming off his tongue, and all he wanted was for him to say it again.

“Viktor, perhaps you should work on improving your Zephemeran? Your accent is a bit strong… someone might find you suspicious because of that.”

Viktor was a bit surprised, not expecting that to be his first sentence using his name, but he was pleased nonetheless.

“Do you speak Uzimaran? My Uzimaran is better. How does this sound?” Viktor asked, switching over immediately.

“Much better!” the hooded man responded in the same.

“Perhaps…” Viktor put his finger to his lips again. “You can help my pronunciation next time we meet.”

“Wh—” The hooded man looked taken aback. It was so forward of Viktor, even he knew this, but he took the chance nonetheless. The hooded man’s face grew grim, and Viktor felt his heart drop right as it had begun to soar again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?! You really mean it?”

The hooded man sighed, but nodded his head. Viktor couldn’t contain himself any longer; he rushed forward and wrapped the shorter man in a tight embrace. The hooded man’s reaction was almost instant; he panicked and reached up to grab Viktor’s arms, but did not pull him away, surprisingly. Instead, it seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Viktor pulled back, but with his arms still around the hooded man’s shoulder, he looked up to the starry sky.

“It should be around the twenty-third hour right now. Can you meet me here the day after tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Viktor looked down again, into those warm brown eyes, and he almost didn’t want to pull away. But the night had grown late enough already, and although he wanted to do more than embrace, already the hooded man was pulling away.

“I…I, hm. Goodbye, Viktor.”

Viktor let his arms fall to his sides, but his smile didn’t ebb, because it was a goodbye with promise for reunion.

“Goodbye, hooded man,” Viktor replied, and to his extreme joy the aforementioned hooded man covered his mouth in a chuckle. Again, it was music to Viktor ears, and he hoped to hear more of it in the near and far future.

Goodbye, with promise of reunion.


	3. On Pins and Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this is a bit late; I want to make a habit of updating every other week. Nevertheless, here it is!  
> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr if you have any questions, or even if you just want to chat: synony.tumblr.com  
> Also arriving soon: an area map. Because let's be real here: what fantasy book is complete without a map??

Phichit was still in a dead sleep when Yuuri got back, but still, he didn’t even bother taking his time and being careful. Ironically, he felt too nervous to take caution at the moment—but it’s a good and a bad feeling at the same time. It’s like he’s giddy and angry with himself at the same time, but far too excited to allow himself the opportunity to think. He lets his feet take him over to the bathing chamber, and he’s soaking in perfumed water with only the moon and trace street lanterns from outside to aid his eyes.

The silver-haired man—Viktor, what a lovely name, —had felt like a good book. Thinking about him left Yuuri satisfied in an odd way, but it left him craving more. Yes, he felt like a good book and an adrenaline rush all at once. Very little things gave Yuuri cause for excitement nowadays, let alone adrenaline, but the heart racing had felt just like a passage out of a book. When he’d spoken, he had found his voice was failing him, and he could not pull his eyes from the stranger’s.

Was this the ‘all at once’ love Phichit’s mother had spoken of? Or was this simply Yuuri’s fear and excitement having fun with him?

Yuuri took a deep breath and submerged himself underwater. He stayed down for as long as he could before he came back up, nostrils stinging with the scent of roses, and water dripping down his face. He blindly groped around the edge of the tub for a towel and wiped his face. He still smelled strongly of a bouquet, but his head was too far in the clouds to let him care. Yuuri leaned back down and turned on his side, letting the warm water blanket him.

“Stupid!” Yuuri kicked his legs, splashing an obscene amount of water out of the tub in the process. He had meant to deny Viktor, to say no and put an end to it right then and there! But his heart was moving without the advice of his mind, and when Viktor had wrapped his arms around him…

Yuuri ducked down beneath the water again. Viktor had been warm and solid, and no one had ever hugged Yuuri so deeply before. Perhaps an arm around Phichit’s shoulder playfully, or the joining of hands that often accompanied Zephemeran ceremonies, but Viktor hadn’t even hesitated to bring him in closely, like a close friend or something deeper.

Yuuri came back up, gasping. He snapped his head back, coating the surrounding area in water but clearing his face again. Again, he wiped his face with the nearby towel and sighed; even the warmth of the bath and the silence of the night couldn’t wipe his worries away.

* * *

 

Viktor slipped into the front entrance of the tavern, hood drawn tight as he made his way behind the counter. There was a handful at the bar, and strikingly less situated at a few tables, but this was what he expected. Lilia’s bar was never bustling with patrons, even in the dead of the night. It was where one came to play a card game while sipping watered down beer. Still, Viktor kept a low profile and moved silently. It wasn’t really the patrons he was avoiding, really. It was someone much scarier.

“Viktor.”

Lilia appeared from back door, cutting off Viktor’s escape. He immediately greeted her with his most amicable smile, trying to pretend all was well and he wasn’t about to get an earful.

“Hello Lilia, busy night isn’t it?”

Expression unchanged, she raised one of her black talons and beckoned Viktor back. “Come back here, I need to have a word with you.”

“Who will tend the bar?” Viktor asked.

“Tend _what_?” Lilia asked in return. Viktor took another look back; there was a man with his face in arms, probably out cold for the night, and another looking into his drink and whispering, probably about to join his passed out friend. Ah yes, the ever lively Green Lizard Tavern. Viktor cursed silently, forced to follow the woman into the back rooms.

“Have a seat.” Lilia said, telling him to get comfortable on his own bed. Lilia took her seat in the nearby chair and began drumming her black and sharp nails on the nearby desk. Her other hand was cupping her chin delicately, and she was staring off at the opposite wall as if deciding what method she would use to skewer Viktor.

“Can you please just get on with it? The silence is culpable enough!”

“I was just wondering,” She moved her hand, but kept her gaze locked on the wall. “What am I supposed to think when you disappear for hours on end during the day, and then once again for well into the night? Just twenty four hours ago you claimed to be bleeding to death in the forest! Is it your goal to see me die of worry before you leave this city? Because great gods, a heart attack will end me before this war does.” 

She looked on him now, turning her steely and reproachful gaze his way. “And then you have the audacity to waltz back into the front entrance well into the night when the tavern is full. You think you can flash a charming smile and all will be forgiven? This is not Cyrean—not even Ithcal. Once the warring and violence begins again, soldiers will execute you for scuffing their armor, much less for looking even remotely suspicious. You let your fame get to your head, and your vanity will be your downfall. You cannot disappear all hours of the day, not at a time like this. And don’t think I don’t know where you’ve been.”

Viktor winced, seeing the holes she had dug into the desk when she removed her hand.

“Consider that forest officially off limits. Now that they suspect rebel activity, soldier and Descendant patrols will increase tenfold. Every chance you take with this city is another chance with death. I didn’t want to say it before; I thought you had learned your lesson, but apparently I’m mistaken. Aeracross is not Thusom, it is not Ithcal, and _it is not Cyrean!_ You do not know these streets as well as you think you do. Hells, you don’t even know Thusom outside of its peaceful era. I have seen the streets literally run red with blood. When you return to Thusom, it will not be the same malleable place you’ve known before, so I pray that you will not continue to let your luck guide you. Viktor, are you even listening to me.”

“Of course I am Lilia.” Viktor replied, keeping his tone neutral. Lilia sighed and closed her eyes, pinching her brow.

“I am not your mother, yet you insist on acting like a child at all hours of the day.” She sighed, letting out her frustration. When she looked back to Viktor her eyes were still steel, but it seemed to Viktor like the worst of her diatribe was over.

“The night is far from young, but you should get as much rest as you can. We’ll be a bit busy tomorrow.”

She left him at that, gaze ever scornful, but Viktor was too high on happiness to give a damn.

* * *

“Feel free to hold it.” Lilia handed over long cylindrical object. Viktor inspected it, turning it over and looking down the long end; it appeared to be hollow and there was wood-like material on either end.

“What does it remind you of?” Lilia asked.

“I’m not sure…” Viktor set it back down on the table and looked to Lilia. “What does it do, first of all?”

“Sir, if you will.” Lilia nodded to the soldier who had brought in the object. He picked it up, holding the flat and wide end of the object against his shoulder and the cylindrical staff end away as he aimed at the wall.

“The Uzi-Zeph general calls it a ‘rifle.’ It’s some sort of advanced hand cannon designed for both accuracy and brutality. Small metal pellets called ‘bullets’ are inserted, and the object is fired using this mechanism here. The general is having his men train in this weapon, but it’s proven to be a complicated process. Most of the soldiers, even the archers, find this weapon difficult to master due to its unique nature. I doubt we’ll see them come to the battlefields soon, but if they do, their use would be exclusively against Descendants.”

“But that’s not all there is to it,” Lilia put a hand to her chin. “Is there?”

“No, something has been bothering me since I discovered it.” The soldier lowered the rifle, setting it back down on the table.

“I couldn’t find information on who invented it, nor on where it originated from. It wasn’t stolen from Cyrean or Kaimera, so its origins are a mystery. Not to mention, this contraption is not designed to work with magic on its own; there are no runes engraved or any spells attached to it. This is the prototype, the rest of these ‘rifles’ were designed with runes to allow them to be amplified magically. I’ve even heard tell of the rifles firing magical pellets. Yes… I fear a weapon like this could cause devastation if Uzimara enhances it with magic. On its own, with or without blessed metal, these things can shoot across the countryside. Can you imagine what it will do with Uzimaran innovation?”

“That’s an image I fear.” Lilia said. “However, we have time to prepare the rebels and our friendly nations. You predict that the Uzimaran general will not have them war ready for a long time?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it will take years, so move with haste.”

“We will have enough time. We have time to smuggle them out of Aeracross, at the very least.” Lilia moved her hand from her chin, waving it in the air. “But how we do that is what’s worrying me. With Aeracross’ guards heightened I fear simply _thinking_ of smuggling will get us caught. I have a creative idea on doing so, but it could risk everything if our plan is see-through.”

Lilia let her hands rest at her sides and bowed her head to the soldier. “You may leave now, but send my thanks to Yuuko.”

“Of course, madam. As soon as you are ready, leave your message in the usual place.” The soldier bowed in return before packing the rifle back into its canvas sack, and then into a long but wide suitcase. He took his leave, and Lilia waited a while longer before she turned to Viktor.

“Yes, I have a plan in the works, but it would be risky for those smuggling it. Don’t look scared, I’m not having you leave the city yet; I have to see if moving mere items will work first. I haven’t ironed out any specific details yet, but I want to keep you informed nonetheless. Who knows, it might be our only method for leaving the city, unless a better opportunity presents itself.”

“I see…” Viktor mimicked Lilia’s previous action, his hand resting on his chin pensively. “If the power of that weapon, even without magic, is enough to kill, I can assume that once the Uzimarans are done with it, Descendants of all kind will be literal cannon fodder.”

“Precisely. Firing blessed metal is one thing, but with the enhancements of magic? Once this weapon sees the battlefields, I fear it may turn the tides of this war.”

“Hopefully it will never have to come to that.” Viktor murmured. He looked back up to Lilia. “Is it possible for me to see the thing in action? Hearing it described is one thing, but…”

“No, absolutely not.” Lilia shook her head. “It’s supposed to be very loud. The soldier confirmed that its shots echoed across the countryside. Even if we seclude ourselves to the forest, _which is absolutely off-limits_ , we’d be risking too much.”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Viktor conceded, although he had no intent on listening to Lilia.

“Hm.” Lilia scoffed and turned away. “Come now, and throw on your hood; we have another errand to run.”

“What? I thought this would be it.” Viktor deflated visibly.

“Even war heroes are not exempt from errands.” Lilia said.

“Then perhaps we can stop by the stalls? I’ve been meaning to pick up a package.”

“Tomorrow, maybe. But today we’ll be up to our necks in prayer. We have a _more_ important package to pick up.”

“Oh, the Zephemeran churches? But they’re so… boring, and usually quite depressing. The only redeeming quality, really, is the architecture.”

“Well, I did say we would be busy today. I did not say it would be an interesting busy, but I want no complaints nevertheless. After this, there are some noble sympathizers we must meet with, and word from Yakov.”

“Ah,” Viktor perked up then. “Alright then, lead the way.”

* * *

 

Whenever there’s a busy day, it’s always a surprise, but never a completely unwelcome one. The Celebration of Dance was approaching and it was quite possibly the biggest festival that took place in Aeracross. Though Yuuri only ever got snippets of it from beneath a heavy cowl, the streets were always bustling with people, and the smell of food was never far off. According to Phichit, performances were held in the city’s main plaza, featuring music from all parts of Zephemera and dancers from many of her cultures. Forlorn feathers would remain scattered in the streets for days, and the excitement it had brought made one forget there was even a war going on.

Of course, the encroaching threat always hangs in the air like a grim reminder. The festival was still weeks off, and it wasn’t until those days prior that the city showed a noticeable change. More merchants, farmers, and general visitors were allowed into the city, and the clamor of Aeracross’ streets grew to the point that Yuuri could hear it from his own window. He found himself wondering, since the violence was sparking up once again, if the festival would even continue as it usually did. As far as Yuuri could remember, the Celebration had never intersected with a warring era. He hoped this wouldn’t put a damper over the festival. The idea had occurred on several occasions, now that he’d been sneaking around… it would be easy: to slip out at night, once he’d made his appearance, and take part in the festivities if only for a _little while_. But it was too bold, even for him. The idea would remain just that: an idea.

The High Priestess had come for Yuuri that day in order to get him fitted for a new ceremonial robe. Yuuri had tried to point out that he hadn’t grown much since the last time he’d been fitted, but arguing with High Priestess made him far too nervous. She was too… scary for that.

But fittings made him tense on a different level. The tailors and seamstresses always approached him as if he were made of glass or rigged to explode at any moment. Whenever they needed to measure a specific place, their questions would come out in a croaked whisper. Not to mention, the High Priestess always remained to watch like a hawk, adding a level of nervousness to the already strained atmosphere. But that was not even the worst part; the entire time, the High Priestess insisted Yuuri cover his face. She and everyone else in this church had an immense fear that if anyone from the outside saw his face, something terrible would happen to the country; it was an old Zephemeran superstition regarding the Incarnate.

So all the while, Yuuri only had a distinct and detailed view of the _floor_. It was close enough that he could count the floorboards without his spectacles, oh joy. He could see feet and trailing wings, but no more than that; the two seamstresses, one Uzimaran and one Zephemeran, the High Priestess and her two knights. Everywhere she went, the High Priestess’ personal entourage of knights was at her ready, usually two or three. These were esteemed knights’ sole purpose was to protect the people of the church. Most of them were chosen by a priest or priestess for personal protection at all times, but some were simply leaders among the knights with established ranks. The High Priestess refused to allow Yuuri _anywhere_ without at least a small army accompanying him. Even fittings within their own sanctuary were a security risk in her eyes.

As the fitting continued, Yuuri obeyed the seamstresses’ requests when they came, lifting his arms when he needed to, spreading his feet when asked. It was looking to be over soon, but an abrupt knocking at the door caught everyone’s attention.

Yuuri kept his head down, unable to see what was happening. He heard one of the knights at the High Priestess’ side answer, then saw as she bowed, just within view and fluffy white wings tucked behind her like a cape, wishing to relay the message. These higher knights usually had lesser knights answer to them like soldiers; usually they were knights in training. They were expected to be of the highest pedigree to serve in the church, but not ready to serve in full steed. Phichit, of course, ranked among one of the higher knights, but that would be an understatement to his role—his entire life’s duty, according to Zephemeran law, was to protect the Incarnate at all costs, and he was expected to serve and die in the Incarnates name.

“You may speak.” The High Priestess addressed her knight.

“High Priestess Okukawa, the general wishes to speak with you at once.”

“Have him wait for me in one of the private rooms.”

“M-Milady, might I add that he made it quite clear in his message that he did not wish to be kept waiting.”

“Even if it’s the general that decides to pay me a visit,” She turned to knight now. “If he comes uninvited and unannounced, he can _wait_.”

“Yes, milady.” The knight bowed her head once more before rushing out. The seamstresses returned to their measurements, probably not realizing _themselves_ that they had even stopped, and Yuuri tried not to appear nosier than he was being.

Only a moment or two had passed before a loud noise, like glass shattering, came from one of the lower floors. The two seamstresses stopped, eyeing each other for a half second, before bounding footsteps and clanging metal approached the door, followed by more knocking.

“What is it? Are we under attack?” The High Priestess asked, panic clearly marking her features.

“The only thing attacking us,” It was not the knight who spoke, but a priest who’d followed him in. “Is the general’s temper.”

“Milady, the general insists that the matter is urgent, and that he have your counsel immediately.” The knight accompanying him said.

The High Priestess took in a breath and sighed before turning to the seamstresses. “The measurements will have to wait. Even if it forestalls the order, they will have to be continued tomorrow at the very earliest.”

“Yes, my lady.” The seamstresses bowed, but before Minako could dismiss them, the accompanying priest called for her attention.

“My lady, it would be an absolute shame that the measurements be delayed. I would offer that myself and the knight be here to watch over Zephemera Incarnate while you are absent.” The priest bowed deeply.

Yuuri held back a protest. He was nervous enough with the High Priestess watching like a hawk, the last thing he needed was an unfamiliar priest watching him just as closely.

“Brother… Feltsman, is it not?”

“Yes, milady.”

“I want you to call for Sister Schneider. She and her personal guards are to escort the Incarnate back to his quarters immediately. I will wait patiently for her to arrive.” Minako said. “Sir Aymeric,” She addressed the guard now, assumedly Feltsman’s personal. “I want you to make sure that the general is comfortable in his room. Tell him that I am ensuring the Incarnate’s safety and will meet with him immediately.”

The two of them bowed deeply at the waist, understanding her words were final. Without another comment, she turned to the seamstresses and dismissed them from the room as well, freeing Yuuri. He quickly dressed, slightly embarrassed to be in his smallclothes, and waited with the High Priestess.

* * *

 

Minako Okukawa’s role was defined at birth: she was to carry out the wishes of the Incarnate and lead the country in the right direction. That was the job Zephemeran law and tradition gave her. Her true purpose, however, was to play the puppet for Uzimara while the Incarnate sat waiting to be decorated like a doll. Minako had always thought it pitiful—someone with the power and prestige of a literal goddess must be forced to sit complacent without a single thought to themselves. But Uzimara imposed this restrictions upon the Incarnate, and Minako considered it her sole duty to protect him from harm, even if it was all a sophisticated ruse. Though the Uzimaran and Zephemeran churches each boasted their own prestige, Minako’s home country was nevertheless another string to be pulled in this age-old war. General Cialdini was calm and calculating, but entitled nonetheless. For him to throw a fit in the church meant his patience had truly been reached.

Minako took a moment outside the door to maintain her composure before opening it. Celestino stood before the fireplace with his hand outstretched, letting the flames flicker forward unnaturally out of their hearth with his slight magical touch. Magic was like a stream, and its users could only harness so much. Those who were not descendants could only try and cup with their hands as much as they can, but inevitably, the water falls through loose fingers. Descendants had tools given to them at birth to draw upon the water—like buckets or bowls that allowed them greater access from the stream.

The Incarnate? The Incarnate might as well _be_ the stream.

The general, who himself was not a Descendant, wielded impressive magical capabilities nonetheless. He wielded the elements strongly and, with a practiced sword and swift magic, he was a ruthlessly amazing warrior.

“Welcome, High Priestess.” He greeted Minako as if she were the guest in this situation. He bowed his head—low enough to acknowledge her without being formal, but not so shallow that it could be considered an egregious error. He thought himself higher than her, but didn’t have the gall (or he had enough sense not) to show it.

“General,” Minako kept her voice neutral. “How are you this fine morning? Or should I say afternoon? You seem to be in good enough health, I see, to smash priceless vases.”

“Consider the vase paid for. I let my anger get the best of me.” Celestino apologized. “Recent events have me tense.”

“Recent events?” Minako asked. “I can assure you, while your worry for Aeracross is not misplaced, we the growing rebel threat will not amount to much.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that?”

“Why, you only need to look to history to predict the outcome. They will struggle in vain for a few more years before giving up once they realize there isn’t a point to their conflict, and that the end was already decided.” Minako said.

“Tsk, tsk!” Celestino wagged his finger. “The second you assume to know the ending, you’ve already lost the war.”

Minako bowed her head. “Whatever you say, General Cialdini.”

Celestino let out a laugh in response to her indifference and kept going. “Yes, on that note I and the High Priest of Uzimara have proposed you instate temporary laws regarding the borders of Aeracross.” Celestino pulled a cylindrical container from his inner coat. It was decorated with the Uzimaran church design, but Minako didn’t need to read it to know what it would entail.

“This close to the Celebration of Dance?” Minako took a step forward. “Absolutely not, at least not until the festival has ended.”

“I understand whatever sentimental value this festival may hold to you and your people, but with the increased risk of rebel activity and influence spreading in Aeracross, the safety of the Incarnate could easily be jeopardized. Not to mention, in the days before this festival, travel in to and out of the city is significantly increased. Am I incorrect?”

“Yes.” It took every inch of willpower not to at least clench her teeth. “During this time, merchants and visitors from all over travel to Aeracross. The Celebration of Dance has been practiced for centuries; calling it off for any reason would be unheard of it.”

“We don’t propose the festival be cancelled. Simply that all major travel be halted until we have all situations under control.”

“Absolutely not!” Minako said suddenly, but calmed herself down immediately. “The festival relies heavily on outside influence. In… Instead, might I propose that vetting standards be raised and more rules for inspection be added. If anything, this is the most favorable outcome.”

Celestino was quiet for a moment. She knew he would treat her proposal as a rebuttal and respond as if it were some kind of debate. “But if this festival is even half as big as it was last year, the wall’s entrances could be packed from dawn to dusk with travelers. What then; if soldiers are busy working to inspect every merchant caravan, we leave another hole for the enemy to gouge.”

“Actually, general,” Minako felt a surge of confidence. “You are slightly mistaken. As the festival is still weeks away. The bustle in the days before is mainly due to traffic from foreign travelers. The merchant and entertaining parties tend to arrive earlier. I am willing to make a concession—that travelers without official business be forbidden, but merchants and the like be allowed under extreme standards and search.”

General Cialdini was quiet now. He took a moment, a few slow steps in front of the fireplace, before he spoke. “You would have to write a formal response to their proposal and send it to the council.” He said finally. “That itself can take three days, even by a flight messenger.”

“Then I will begin writing immediately.”

“Which means, _at the very least_ , three days until a final response. Until then, it would be best if you halted all travel period.” Celestino turned to the door. “The council might misinterpret your actions if you don’t heed their words immediately.”

“Of course.” Minako bowed her head slightly.

“Ah, but we’ve actually gotten off topic. Unfortunately, the rebel threat is not the only thing in my mind. There’s trouble to the Southwest.”

“The era has just started, what could possibly have happened already?”

Celestino retrieved a folded letter from his coat pocket and handed it to Minako. There was a broken seal of a fake family crest: it was intelligence from a spy.

Minako unfolded the letter and began to read it. The letter was in code, but Minako remembered enough to decipher its meaning, and when she had finished she felt as if someone had sent a punch straight to her gut.

“Honestly, I don’t know if this is good or bad.” Celestino said as Minako handed the letter back.

“How could it be anything but bad?” Minako asked.

“It means they have someone who’s cocky and sure of themselves. Easier to target as an enemy.” Celestino said.

“But more likely to behave unpredictably…” Minako added. The gist of the letter had stated that Kaimera Incarnated had made themselves a known friend to the public, performing miracles and kissing babies—things of that nature. Before this, not much information about the Kaimeran Incarnate escaped the dry deserts of Southern Kaimera, but what caused Minako the concern was this coded line:

‘Our neighbor in Freyhaven proceeded to extend their arm to Madam Milani, causing a bit of disrupt around town. I can’t say for sure whether his wife was alright with it, but it happened nonetheless and the day continued like normal.’

The Kaimeran Incarnate outwardly attacked an Uzimaran vessel in neutral waters, but the spy who wrote this letter speculates that he did so without Kaimeran or Cyreani approval.

“And he’s harder to control. He’s someone who acts on impulse and without thinking about the consequences.” The general said, beginning to pace in front of the fireplace.

“Yes…?” Minako agreed, trailing off.

“We, however, have someone easily controllable. Where he might lack in martial prowess he would make up in obedience; if we attacked in strategic locations, avoid conflict, we might be able to—”

“No.” Minako said. “Absolutely not. The Incarnate’s powers are not to be trifled with, and we will not demand that he use them for any purpose that is not strictly defensive.”

“This was an outright strike against Uzimara, how in the god’s name would it not be defensive?!” Celestino asked.

“All decisions regarding the Incarnate are made by _me_ , general.” Minako said firmly. “And I deem this situation inappropriate for the Incarnate to be involved in. This is a chess game, and neither Kaimera nor Cyrean would make major moves without first considering the consequences.”

“ _But you’ve read it yourself_.” He said, trying to keep his tone down to a hushed whisper. “He is a loose cannon, and we can take advantage of this! By remaining inactive, we put Uzimara—and Zephemera—in danger to unprecedented attack—especially attack at a catastrophic scale if the Incarnate so wishes it. However if we acted on this Incarnate’s weak mind by playing our hand strategically, we could—”

“ _Could_. As far as I’m concerned, we remain inactive until the outcome is certain.”

“This is one thing I can never talk with you church-folk about.” Celestino cursed and turned back to the door. “War is about seizing the chance when it is given—and the odds are deathly swaying back and forth, in and out of our favor. The Lady Zephemera has practically opened her arms to us, and you wish to spit in her face.”

Minako grimaced, absolutely offended he would take the goddess’ name in such an analogy, but she stood her ground. “My mind is made up, General Cialdini. If you have no more matters to discuss, then I have a letter to write.”

She walked to the door pulled a lever connected to the service areas.

“A servant will be here shortly to escort you to a room. You’re more than welcome to stay at the cathedral.” Minako hated that she was almost required to extend this courtesy. To refuse him now would cause the council to reconsider her letter, and she had to project an air of diplomacy no matter what. Zephemera must always remain a faithful little pawn.

“Don’t bother, _My Lady_.” He spat the word like an insult, but kept his expression surprisingly smug.  “I will choose whatever room I see fit; I do not consider this conversation over. It is always a pleasure to visit the cathedral.”

“And a pleasure to have you.” Minako lied as well.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Yakov was seeking out Sister Schneider. The church was quite large, so the walk was lengthy and gave plenty of time to thought, but he dared not drag his feet, lest the general break another priceless artifact.

It was not at all what Yakov had hoped for, but he was not completely disappointed. The High Priestess was a suspicious woman to begin with, but that she trusted Yakov to carry an important message was a step in the right direction. And a step in Yakov’s plan. First, she would entrust him with tasks, then, once she saw that he was competent, he would garner her favor. He would be entrusted with tasks relating specifically to the church’s welfare, and then specifically to the Incarnate’s wellbeing. Then, she would trust him with intricate matters, such as the state of the very _country_ , and Yakov would be allowed within her personal council. There, he would be allowed to as much information as he pleased—information that only a few eyes have ever glanced at. But this could take time, an invariable amount of time. Yakov was patient, but other unnamed members of the rebellion, not so much. Anything could happen within a year, let alone a few weeks, that could change everything.

But Yakov had no time to focus on what _could_ happen—he needed to solidify his thoughts and bring about what _will_ happen. So long as he focused without doubt on his part as a priest, he would have the most significant hand in ending the Incarnate’s life.

“Sister Schneider.” Yakov greeted her with a bow.

“Brother Feltsman.” She said with a slight nod of her head.

“The High Priestess has requested that you and your personal guard escort the Incarnate to his personal quarters.”

“Certaintly. From the fitting room, correct?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“I shall see it done, then.” She responded, nodding to the entourage of guards who stood against the wall to follow her.

Once she was gone, and Yakov made sure the hall was empty, he took a deep sigh. He hated everyone here. Sister Schneider would probably be the first person he blackmailed within the High Priestess’ council.

Continuing down the hall, he racked his mind for his remaining duties for the day. Nothing else remained in church; it was well past midday and most of the other smaller churches around the city would be ending prayer. Of them, Yakov was to inspect five and ensure they met the minimum standards for—

Now in the main hall, Yakov’s train of thought was interrupted by the hushed whispers of guards. They stood at the foot of the stairs, four of them, and they were talking in hushed voices. Yakov’s first instinct as priest was to call them to order and demand they get back to their posts. His second one, as a spy, told him to listen for as long as he could.

“…’s angry ‘bout the colonies.”

“Nah, he doesn’t care about that, it’s the… …a mistress. I think he’s actually here on business. _That_ kind of business.”

“Where’d’ya hear that load of crap. The rebels at the wall, he heard tell and immediately… …the _entire_ place. …left the bodies as a message.”

“You idiots, that isn’t why he’s _really_ here. He said… …regarding a message from the… …about the rebels down south. He’s pissed about that and he’s come to make a mess in Aeracross about security.”

“Royal guards killed them all… …he’d be mad about that. The Uzimarans are going mad, he …pass the church’s message.”

“Not _those_ rebels, ya feathered bastard! …colonial ones.”

“He wouldn’t come deliverin’ the Council’s messages like a servant boy though.”

“Not unless it benefitted him.”

“Always spoutin’ about how rebels are takin’ over Aeracross; that’s what he’s does back in Thusom.”

“He’s come to embarrass the High Priestess’ name is what.”

“You don’t know this man at all.”

“Only the stories.”

“Chin up, someone’s coming.”

Yakov thought he’d been spotted, but then saw a servant approaching from the far end of the lower floor. He retraced his steps into the hallway, long enough where he could cross paths with the servant as he descended the stairs while still walking casually.

Rebels… killed at the front gate? He could feel his hands grow cold; had things been compromised on Lilia’s end? More importantly, was Viktor alright? Oh gods, if he’d been killed…

Yakov caught himself, suppressing the morbid thoughts. Even if Viktor had died, he made a vow to stay convicted to his cause. Still, there was no use in worrying; it was difficult to send messages efficiently and secretly, but while he was out he would have his chance. In the end, this was all one big waiting game, and it could only be played by masters of patience.

All the more reason to worry about Viktor though, Yakov thought.

* * *

 

Yuuri was sitting upside-down, trying to focus on a book when excited knocking came at his door.

“Come in, Phichit.” Yuuri sat up and let his spectacles fall around his neck.

“Yuuri, I have gossip!” Phichit put his helmet on Yuuri’s bed and plopped down, a grin spreading wide across his face. “You’re not going to believe who was here earlier!”

“Was it General Cialdini?”

“N… Yeah, actually, it was him. How did you know?” Phichit’s feathers floofed down, showing his disappointment.

“He needed to talk to the High Priestess while I was getting fitted for a new robe. He threw a fuss, and I eventually got sent back to my room.”

“Oh. Well, but, anyway, do you know what he was here for?”

“Nope.”

Phichit’s mischievous smile returned full-force.

“Alright, so I was on duty at the front gates this morning, but I heard from someone who heard from a guard who was on duty in the front halls that he was here to court her.”

“ _What_?” Yuuri asked.

“That’s what _I_ said. It sounded unlikely, but I have to keep tabs on every possibility. Of course, that’s just one of the things I heard. I also heard tell that he was here to chew the High Priestess because the city’s not safe enough; he thinks rebels are in here trying to supersede her power. The last thing I heard was that he came to discuss some kind of naval attack in Southern Kaimera? But that sounded unlikely; why would he talk to the High Priestess about strategies? Anyway, do you think there’s any chance he could be trying to woo the High Priestess.”

“Phichit, is that really what you’re focused on?”

“Of course not, but think! If she rats on him, he could be tried for straight up treason. The grounds have been spreading rumor after rumor since he left; I’ll have to check back in with you tomorrow to see what everyone’s saying then. Still, what do _you_ think?”

“Hm…” Yuuri closed his book and put it to his mouth. “Well, he was probably here to talk about the city’s safety, if nothing else. It’s the only rumor that makes logical sense.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Phichit sighed, leaning back to rest against the wall. “So, how did your day go?”

“In all honesty, the only interesting thing was hearing about the general’s arrival. I heard he broke something expensive.”

“Yup! Handmade decorative vase from a Kaimeran colony.”

“And then you showed up, making a fuss about the local gossip.”

“It’s best to stay informed…” Phichit responded.

“ _Mis_ informed?”

“It’s best to stay entertained?” He offered instead.

“I can’t argue with that. At least your day was more exciting than mine.” Yuuri said. Though tomorrow night, Yuuri told to himself, would be different. Just thinking about it made him smile in excitement.

“Ah, don’t say that, you’ll make me feel guilty.” Phichit said.

“Oh, no, uh! I didn’t mean it like that. Without you to talk to, my days would be painfully boring.”

“Aw, sheesh, Yuuri. You’re making me blush.”

“Pft.” Yuuri tapped Phichit on the head with his book.

“Why do they even keep you locked up here?” Phichit asked.

“You ask me that too many times to count.” Yuuri said, sighing.

“Because I genuinely wonder sometimes… It… It just seems kind of cruel to me.”

“I think everyone wants to protect me. Everyone seems to be looking out for me.”

Phichit sat up, mouth open as if to say something, but thought better and leaned back again. “I’ve heard tales of Incarnates who’ve led entire _armies_ by themselves.”

“That doesn’t make it any less dangerous, though.” Yuuri pointed out. “I would honestly be scared if every day someone I cared for had a chance of never returning. Everyone’s just scared for me.”

“No! Everyone’s just scared _of_ you.”

Yuuri felt himself recoil, but Phichit’s response was almost instantaneous.

“Wait, _Yuuri_. I didn’t mean it like that; that came out completely wrong.” Phichit stood up now, shocked with himself.

“It’s fine.” Yuuri said, although it wasn’t. “I know what you mean.” Of course it was something he considered many times, but never something he thought anyone would vocalize. He shouldn’t let his feelings get hurt over something so trivial and yet… it hurt anyway.

“Yuuri, really, I’m so sorry.” Phichit said once again. “Honestly, I didn’t meant to say something like that.”

“Yet you said it anyway.” Yuuri covered his mouth and looked up in surprise. He thought he had been thinking the words only, but his lips were moving before he realized it. Phichit looked distraught, and Yuuri felt a tinge of guilt. He could never stay mad at his childhood friend, but in this moment he just didn’t know what to say, or rather, what he could trust himself to say in order to fix this.

“I-I’m sorry, but, Phichit? I think I want to spend the rest of the night by myself.”

“I’m so—”

“ _It’s_ _fine_.” He caught himself; he sounded more forceful than he intended. “It’s fine. I just want to be alone right now.”

Phichit nodded, lingering for only a second before he grabbed his helm and, without another word, left the room. Yuuri sighed; he set his book down and brought his knees up to his chest. This had to have been the closest thing to a fight Yuuri’s ever had with Phichit, and it did not feel good. Not at all.

* * *

Yuuri held his arms out, trying to keep himself stiff as a board, as the seamstresses worked on his robe. They’d been able to make progress on the design and form of it, but said they’d need to make minor adjustments for the measurements they missed yesterday. The High Priestess was watching over, her presence nerve-wracking; so the day was looking to be just as boring as yesterday, lack of an angry general notwithstanding. Yuuri’s face was covered yet again, but this time with the length of the robe’s cowl.

He let out a slow breath, trying to concentrate all of his efforts on being still, but it was increasingly difficult. The robe was warm and clammy, so he was sweating a bit, and his arms were getting increasingly tired. It was a struggle to keep them up without shaking, and each breath he felt his arms lower. Not to mention, he was—

“Ah!” Yuuri reflexively drew his arm back. For a second there was sharp pain—but along with it he could sense the entire room, and then nothing, as if he’d imagined it. No, he knew it happened; it happened any time he hurt himself, like a magical reflex. He felt the needle bend when it tried to pierce him, and in that same instance, felt as the seamstress dropped it. He had felt every specific detail of the room as if he’d seen it; the High Priestess barely having time to react, the knights even slower, the number of nails hammered into the floor, every outline of the seamstress’ feathers, how many floorboards were in the room, every individual crack in the painted window sill. And then it disappeared and faded like a memory. He could even sense as the needle bent in on itself for that half moment. But once the magic disappeared his senses honed back in; he _heard_ the needle now, landing with a small _tink_ , and for a moment it was the only sound in the room.

Then it was followed by another metal sound.

_Shhhink!_

Yuuri heard the knights pull their swords, and the seamstresses’ immediate pleading and begging.

“Arrest them.” The High Priestess called out calmly.

“ _No!_ Your Highness, your Graciousness, it was an accident!”

“Please, gods, no!”

The seamstresses began to plead and beg. The two of them dropped to their knees, heads bowed before the High Priestess in prostrate.

“Please, don’t arrest us. It was but a mistake on our fault entirely. M-My hands were shaking a-and m-my fingers, they were c-c-covered in sweat I… no, I-I…”

“No, arrest is not fitting of this crime.” The knight announced. “I believe intentional harm towards the Incarnate is grounds for _immediate_ execution.”

The duo looked up, horror struck as Yuuri could see, and they began once again to plead, heads once again bowed against the floor.

Yuuri heard the High Priestess voice her agreeance and felt absolutely aghast. “Incarnate. You must come with me while the knight handles this situation appropriate. The fitting will have to be further postponed.”

“The—The _fitting_?!” Yuuri looked up now, bringing the covering on his head back some. “No, absolutely not.” He bent down and picked up the bent needle—it was not simply bent, but as if someone curled it down like a vined plant. It was split into two, each half forming a metal spiral.

“I refuse to let you hurt either of them!”

“Your Grace, please consider this rationally. These two obviously had plans to harm you from the very beginning.” The High Priestess explained, as if he were questioning the sky’s color. “You needn’t trouble yourself over perplexing situations like this. You must be in shock over your life being threatened; shall I escort you back to your room for the day?”

“How could a _needle_ possibly threaten my life?” Yuuri asked.

“If it were poisoned? Or punctured into a pressure point?” She countered. “Yes, you don’t need to think on this matter anymore. Come, let me lead you—”

“The needle could never harm me in anyway.” He held up the bent piece of metal. “You _know_ that, you weren’t even surprised! They’re seamstresses and I’m sure they make mistakes. They don’t need to be punished with death.”

“Your Grace, pardon my forwardness, but matters such as this do not concern you. You’re simply not fit to make such grave decisions. Even if this attack were an accident as proclaimed, measures still need to be taken, and we must assume that any harm that comes to you must be intentional from the inflictor. I know a situation like this is complicated, but you don’t need to think about this. Come, you might want to enjoy some tea in your room, yes?” She bowed, keeping her tone mild, as if scolding a small child. Yuuri pulled his hood off entirely now.

“How am I not fit when the decision concerns me directly? They insist it was an accident and I am unharmed, therefore I won’t let you harm either of them.” Yuuri took a step forward, standing between the two bowed women, still quivering in fear. He bent down on one knee himself, lowering his head as they had, and exposing himself.

“I’m just as much at fault. I was fidgeting and moving, I probably led the needle myself. If anyone is at fault here, it’s me. And for that, I truly apologize.”

“Z-Zephemera Incarnate!” The knight whispered; both a curse and an exclamation of his title.

“Please rise at once! You should never bow and expose yourself like this.” The High Priestess pleaded. “You are a god among men and shouldn’t disgrace yourself; nor should you lower your guard like this!”

“Not until you promise no harm will ever come to these women.” Yuuri said. “I won’t move.”

“My lady…” The knight turned to the High Priestess, unsure of how to proceed. The High Priestess hesitated a moment, before sighing and speaking.

“Then… then it is as you request. We shall let them leave the church unharmed.”

“ _You won’t harm them period_.”

She faltered for another moment before seeming to regain her composure.

“I give you my word. No harm will come to these women. I promise this, under one condition; they shall never be allowed back into this church.”

Yuuri sighed, but he felt like it would be as good as he’d get.

“Fine. But I’m escorting them to the door.”

“What— _what_!? No, my earnest apologies, but—for you to even approach—it, it would be…”

“You act like I’ve never been to the front door before.” He said, referring to the handful but memorable times when he’d been _allowed_ outside. “I will, of course, be with you and however many guards you feel is appropriate.”

Yuuri looked up now, and the High Priestess was looking down at him. Her face was a painting of emotions: was it anger, fear, surprise, or distraught? She was quick to close her eyes, breath, and bring her expression back to neutral, however.

“Then we must waste no time. Lady Lucia, blindfold and bind the two.”

“Of course!”

Yuuri stood and watched as one knight went to retrieve cloth as the other forced the women to stand, facing away from Yuuri and the door. When the knight returned, cloth in hand, he also returned with several others filling the hallways. The two women began their march, five guards in the front and rear. Yuuri and the High Priestess took up the very back, three guards directly behind them.

The halls were long and they crossed many staircases, but the closer they got to the exit, the more nervous the High Priestess became. They’d passed no small number of knights and priests, all of whom gawked openly after bowing, but none of them seemed to be the cause of her anxiety. Yuuri was about to ask her himself, but they group was stopped in the grand hall, just about to descend the staircase.

“Oh hoh, what’s the meaning of this? Did I miss the calls for a parade—oh don’t tell me, did you decide to have the festival early?”

Yuuri looked up and around, not seeing anyone nearby.

“Why, if I didn’t have any sense I’d say that—” They saw each other at the same time—Yuuri saw the Uzimaran general and expressed no small amount of surprise, but it was the general who looked the most appalled when he saw Yuuri.

“High Priestess, what exactly is the meaning of this?” He asked, looking past Yuuri now, a frown deeply etched onto his face.

“These seamstresses committed a minor infraction against the Incarnate. As such, we’re escorting them out; you can be assured, they will never be allowed within the church walls, general.”

“An infraction against the Incarnate?” The general repeated, dropping the ‘minor’. “I’ve half a mind to execute them myself, right here and now. What was this infraction? Why are they still breathing and being escorted out like esteemed guests?! And why is the Incarnate here; you boast so much to protect him, yet put him in immediate danger.”

“I, ah, you see, this is because…” The High Priestess clasped her hands together in front of her waist, obviously trying to think of a good excuse.

“It’s because I asked her not to.” Yuuri said, speaking up. The general’s frown deepened even further, and he looked to Yuuri as if a cat hopped up on two legs and started singing. “Where the High Priestess wanted to executed them I absolutely refused; it seemed like a trivial matter to execute someone over. So, I,” Yuuri cleared his throat, realizing the entire hall was staring at the scene. “I demanded that no harm come to them, and insisted to see them out myself.”

It was like everyone within the grand hall took a collective breath and held it.

“I see… Zephemera Incarnate, if I may ask something?” the general put a hand to his chin.

“Yes?”

“What exactly did these two seamstresses do to earn your interceding?”

“They mistakenly pricked me with a needle.” Yuuri answered.

“Mistakenly? I’m sure an assassin mistakenly stabs a noble lord, too. What makes you so sure these women’s actions were not predetermined?”

“Because…” Even if he surely doubted the women meant to harm him, there was no way he could prove to the general their intentions. General Cialdini knew this. “I’m not hurt, and if they insist it was an accident, then there is no reason for their lives to put on the line.”

General Cialdini held Yuuri with a long stare, and Yuuri felt himself waver for a moment. Finally, he stopped rubbing his chin and began to laugh.

The hall exhaled.

“Such a childish answer! I expected no less, of course; but your wish is our command. High Priestess, perhaps you should take matters like this into your own hands instead of allowing the Incarnate himself; it is not his duty. You must remember, he’s lived a sheltered life and doesn’t know any better.”

Yuuri felt himself bristle at that barb. He wanted to argue that he was no child—that his life was plenty rich. But he couldn’t, not without giving himself away at least.

“Yes general, I shall take your advice into consideration.”

“For now, listen to the Incarnate’s demands, but take caution when indulging in such frivolities.”

“Of course.” The High Priestess sighed softly—soft enough that Yuuri was sure only he could hear her. No wonder she’d been so anxious; an encounter with someone as manipulative and scary as him is great cause for nervousness. Without directly insulting him, he belittled Yuuri and his judgement. Most would never consider insulting him, yet General Cialdini did so in such a way that he never had to put into words what everyone was thinking: they believed that Yuuri didn’t know up from down and was making wild demands from an unintelligent perspective. The High Priestess had spoken to Yuuri in a similar way, but she truly believed her own words. The general, however… it was like he was testing Yuuri.

In the end, he saw the two seamstresses safely leave the church, and that should have been a win in itself. Yet he felt like he had lost some dignity in the process—whatever little he had, that is.


	4. Stars, Ice, and Strange People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks: a map! It's of the area this section of the story is centered on. Perhaps in the future we'll explore the other great nations.
> 
> http://imgur.com/a/eSMX5
> 
> EDIT: I found it pretty hilarious that the program I used to make this map was called inkarnate. Heh. Haha. INKARNATE. HAHA. WHAT ARE THE ODDS.

Like Yuuri, Viktor’s day had been quite busy. The day before he and Yuuri had agreed to meet, as Lilia promised, he was up to his neck in prayer. Zephemeran architecture was stunning to behold; both the head Zephemeran Church and its smaller houses of worship stood practically scraping the sky with its towers and turrets. Everything about it was ornate; there were designs and scenes woven into the very bricks that made the churches, and windows were decorated with spiraling and sharp metal filigree.

The service, however, was dreadfully terrible. Cyrean had their fair share of churches, no doubt, but it was run by a constitutional monarch, and did not make services mandatory. Viktor had never been a church-going kind of man; he had been far too busy to attend on any day that wasn’t a holy day. But were all services so painfully boring?

Viktor had been excited to learn more about the Zephemeran religion, or how the goddess herself was regarded in their scripture. The nation of Kaimera had many myths regarding the four deities, all of them giving character to the almighty beings that forged this Earth. But the Zephemeran holy book, _Zephemera Biblion_ , had a single passage on the four gods, and it was the standard spiel—that they created the planet before forging races in their own likeness. The rest was a “teaching” of Zephemera and Uzimara’s shared past—most of which was scrubbed clean of any controversial fact that cast either nation in shame. No, it was nothing but a preaching of falsehoods and lies.

Viktor had listened on from the very back of the pews—he had to feign his role as a drafted Descendant—and had to try his damnedest not to show visible disgust. Finally, once the hour long ceremony was over, he had waited for Lilia to seek out Yakov. Posing as a priest, he was tasked to make sure each church was meeting its standards and holding proper mass. Then, Lilia came back with good but disappointing news: Yakov was within the church without a single suspicion, but getting the information they needed could take a long time, perhaps years.

Viktor was not satisfied with this at all—he could not wait for _years_! No, it had already been years since he joined the revolution—joined and seen significant change—and now, for some reason, he felt like the end was close… A year, let alone many, is not close to him.

While Viktor was more than ready to sit brooding for hours, come up with another plan perhaps, Lilia had other ideas. She insisted he practice his speaking.

So now, Viktor sat at his bedroom desk, with Lilia in a pulled up chair. No matter what it was that she taught, she did so intensely, and she always took it to the extreme.

 “No, again.” Lilia shook her head. Viktor sighed and cleared his throat once more.

“‘How do you do?’”

Lilia slapped her hand on the desk. “You must enunciate the ‘h’ more clearly. When speaking, do not curl your tongue up in such a manor. Here, watch as I say it.” She straightened her back and spoke, saying each word clearly: “How do you do?”

“I said it the exact same way!” Viktor threw his arms in the air, frustrated. “Can we stop this already? I’m fluent enough; no one will notice an accent.”

“If _I_ can notice it, I’m sure others will as well. You have a distinct Northern Cyrean flair to your words, and I wince every time I hear it. Now, remember: you must not over-stress one syllable over another. One more time.”

Viktor let out a small sigh. “…‘How do you do?’” He focused on moving his mouth the same way while also trying not to fumble each word.

Lillia nodded. “Better. Say it again.”

“‘How do you do?’”

“Again.”

“‘How do you do?!’”

“Fine, and you?” Lilia made a satisfied little harrumph. “Better, but you still need more work.”

“There’s simply no pleasing you, is there?” Viktor slumped over in his chair, groaning.

“Sit up, we aren’t done here.” Lilia snapped her fingers. “I want to go over at least one alliteration.”

Reluctantly, Viktor brought himself back up to a sitting position. Lilia cleared her throat once more before speaking.

“‘Thorns thick as thistles threaten Thuriel there upon the thigh.’”

“Thorns do what?” Viktor asked.

“‘ _Thorns thick as thistles threaten Thuriel there upon the thigh_.’”

“… ‘Thorns thick ath thickles’… wait,” Viktor stopped. “…‘Thorns thick as thithickles’ wait!”

Lilia crossed her arms and waited; this went on for about six more times before he finally managed to say it:

“‘Thorns… thick as thistles threaten Thuriel… there upon the thigh!’” Viktor gave a tiny cheer. “How was that?”

“Good. Now, say it two times fast.”

“Actually,” Viktor stood up and stretched. “What time is it? It can’t be midday already, can it? I have to step out for a moment, there’s a package I have to pick up.”

Lilia shook her head, smiling.

“Fine; let’s have a small break. But I expect you to be back within the hour.”

“Of course, of course!” Viktor said noncommittally, already on his feet and towards the door. Yes, he had a very special gift to pick up for a very special someone in his life; he’d spent so much time away from Makkachin when he hadn’t intended to be gone for too long—there was no way he could return without a gift. Viktor had sent in a request with a local jeweler for a dog collar. The man had regarded Viktor with suspicion over his request, but eventually conceded with enough prodding.

Viktor was on his way there now, slight pep in his step as he made his way towards one of Aeracross’ main streets; they were particularly crowded this time of the day. People were bustling about, both rich and poor, with something to do. This was something Viktor could never get used to in Zephemera and Uzimara; the crowdedness of their cities and the hustle and bustle they invited. Even in Cyrean’s capital city, where the monarch and the assembly resided, the streets were never so narrow, and tall buildings did not eclipse the sky. The roads in Aeracross and Thusom were taken up by horses and people alike, whereas in Ur’Dirie, the Cyrean capital, the streets were separated and civilians were kept to the sidewalks. Not to mention, most importantly, people were allowed to fly within their own cities, and although a large number of the population could not fly, it kept the roads considerably clear. Viktor longed to touch the sky once again; it was like an itch that needed scratching and he hadn’t flown in too long. But it was a risk even Viktor couldn’t take with the amount of surveillance that went on within these walls.  

Viktor ducked into an alcove between buildings, dodging a horse-drawn carriage, but only _nearly_. It was a tad fun, though—dodging horses and people alike as Viktor rushed down the brick streets. Finally, he arrived at the right street; he broke quickly from the main street and off into the small side market, home to plenty of high-end shops and gentleman’s clubs. He stopped in front of the shop and opened the door.

The bell tinkled lightly, but did not draw the shop keep’s eyes up—he was speaking to other customers. Viktor could only see two puffs of raven black wings, but he could tell from the ornate pinion keeping their wings held tight that they were nobility, and likely married.

“No, afraid not. This ring is indeed made of pure silver, but the gem is false, made of a lesser stone cut into a sapphire shape.” The shop keep said, turning over a small but intricate ring in his taloned, bird-like hands.

“Are you quite sure? I’ve had this heirloom since I was child. Well… I suppose it always has been just some plucky trinket. What will you take for it?” The noble lady asked.

“I cannot offer you above ten dranings for the ring, milady, if I want to keep this shop up and running!”

“Just ten? Well, I suppose if it’s—” The nobleman began, but cut himself when Viktor approached the counter.

“’Just ten’ indeed!” Viktor piped up, stepping forward. “If it’s pure silver in your hand, sir, than you might want to bump the price up by a few dranings. The army is paying you hand over fist for any silver or iron you get your hands onto, aren’t they? Far more than they would gold or copper, that much is certain.”

“A Descendant!” The noble couple took a step back, eyes wide. Immediately the nobleman bowed low, and the woman dropped into a practiced curtsy. The shop keep’s wings twitched when he saw Viktor, but his confusion turned to recognition, which turned into bitterness. Viktor paid it no mind, aside from a light smile.

“W-Well, I, _ahem_.” The shop keep cleared his throat, looking quite red in the face. “Well, prices rise and fall, so ten was going to be my _starting_ offer.”

The noble couple shared a glance, and then looked back to the jeweler.

“Wouldn’t it be best if we found ourselves a second opinion?”

“Actually, we might go for a second opinion on this ring.” The nobleman asked, adjusting his suit. Jaw agape, the jeweler could only watch as they bowed politely and made their leave.

“You!” The jeweler turned on Viktor as soon as the door shut, red with anger now.  “I remember you! The Lizard’s lapdog, aren’t you? First you come asking for strange collars, and _now_ what? Robbing me blind?”

“Just making sure your conscience is clear.” Viktor said, shrugging his shoulders with an innocuous smile on his lips. “Actually, speaking of collars—I came to ask if my order was ready.”

The jeweler glared over his spectacles, outwardly annoyed by Viktor’s chipper demeanor. “Give it a few more days. I hope your, ah, ‘pet’ won’t mind the wait.”

“Oh no, Makkachin is a good boy, although he gets a bit excitable.”

“I don’t need to know all of that.” The old man waved his hands in disgust. “Out with you! And don’t scare away my customers, I need to eat too.”

“See you soon, then!” Viktor waved, ignoring the last part and heading out the door. He had just enough time to slip through the streets and make it back to Lilia’s, albeit he loathed the idea of more accent training. This time however, he opted for the sparser alleyways. Viktor made his way through quickly; many of the alley’s occupants were surprised to see a Descendant rushing through the street, and Viktor didn’t want to cause them more trouble than he needed, although he was sure the feeling was mutual.

Aeracross was a beautiful city, but the brighter the light, the darker its shadow. The alleyways were a known home to the homeless and poverty stricken citizens of the city. The only hope for a step out of the filth was giving birth to a Descendant and eventually drafting that child off into war once they became of age. The families of Descendants were always promised a government stipend, although usually this wage kept the family barely out of the gutters. And, if the Descended child was killed in war, the money died with them.

Many held a deep resentment for the very home they lived in, but it was a feeling held in check with the ever-looming threat of death and repercussion. The same gift that could promise them food could promise death; Descendants were not enlisted simply for their strength—it was also to keep their power from swaying to the side of rebellion. It made it that much harder to enlist powerful rebels in the large cities of Aeracross and Thusom, but not impossible. Still, Viktor could manage to recruit a backing to rival the ages and still be crushed to death by a demigod if he did not find a way to bring it down. Brute force was one thing, but without the knowledge of spies or friends in high places, it was all for nothing.

Viktor shook his head, coming up to Lilia’s tavern. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. Yakov would come through, or Viktor would have to form his own plan.

* * *

 

As soon as the seamstresses left the church grounds, Yuuri was promptly sent back to his room. He felt slighted and angry, but he didn’t know what to be angry about, and towards whom. Was he angry at the High Priestess for treating the seamstresses as criminals for a simple mistake? Or the general for purposely treating him like pesky child.

Not to mention, he’d only himself to blame for sending Phichit off. Now, it feels like he overreacted to something small. His first thought when he entered the room was to vent to Phichit, at least have a shoulder to lean on. But he saw the different guard standing watch on his door and reminded himself tonight would be different. He would have to wait the evening out alone and then sneak out. Perhaps the night air would improve his mood.

Perhaps _Viktor_ would improve his mood.

Odd enough, Yuuri wasn’t in the mood to read. He sifted through several books, opening them where he’d left off—some of them already thoroughly read—but didn’t find the thought of reading compelling enough. He lifted _Martha’s Scale_ and carded through the pages, taking in the book’s scent. This was, of course, a false cover—but Yuuri had read the original Martha’s Scale. It was beautiful, telling the tale of how a warrior came to love and break the curse of a man who’d been transformed into a dragon. It was a fictional piece set thousands of years in the past; wyrms and dragons were said to roam the land and skies freely before being poached to death for their beautiful scales and eyes. Main character of this story was accused of killing the last dragon, and for his sins a powerful sorcerer cursed him with her dying breaths, turning him into a dragon and making him flee across the lands as many tried to hunt and kill him. Martha eventually found him, and instead of killing him as she was sent to do, she befriended and fell in love with him, breaking his curse.

While the Uzimarans were said to be created alongside the great dragon, they remain absent from actual history accounts around the world. Some believe they were indeed hunted and killed before concise history could record them accurately, while others believe they never truly existed, merely a namesake for Uzimara’s patron creation.

Yuuri looked beneath his bed, pulling out books and filing through them, looking for the original copy. He found feathers, dust bunnies, and plenty of _other_ books, but Martha remained hidden, the crafty book.

_Knock knock!_

Yuuri jumped slightly, thankful he didn’t move far enough to hit his bed. Goddess knows what happened when he stubbed his toe on a bookshelf, he didn’t need to explain a new bed. Oftentimes he forgot to let his guard down in his own room, and although it served him like a second skin, it’d been the cause of too many unfortunate accidents. Since birth, Yuuri unconsciously protected himself with a layer of impenetrable magic. It repelled anything that attempted to cause him harm, but in more recent times Yuuri had discovered like, with all magic, he could control this guard and let it down. Since Yuuri was exceptionally clumsy, especially around pieces of furniture with nothing else around them, he figured a sore toe was a fair trade-off for a whole bed.

Yuuri looked up, instinctively about to call Phichit in until he remembered his friend was not outside his room today.

“…Who is it?” He asked warily.

“Please pardon the intrusion, Incarnate, may I enter?”

“No!” When Yuuri heard the High Priestess’ voice he stumbled to his feet and went to pull the door and keep it from opening. “No, I’m, I…”

He looked around his room, the floor now covered in blue feathers and illegal contraband.

“…I’m naked.”

“Oh!” He heard he gasp behind the door, along with another audible gasp—probably the guard by the door. This is a memory that would haunt him. 

“Yes, I was, _ahem_.” Yuuri coughed, beet red, trying to think of something. “I was about to take a quick dip in the bath, haha.”

“A thousand pardons, I had no idea; please excuse me. Oh dear… I shall be back in an hour.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri took a glance out his window, relief flooding him; the sun would probably be setting by the time she came back. That gave him enough time to clean his room.

* * *

It took little trouble to stuff the books back beneath his bed; the real trouble was cleaning the dust and feathers. Yuuri was responsible to making his own bed and maintaining his own room; the High Priestess feared too strongly that another person handling and entering his room posed a big risk. No one was even allowed to enter his room to collect clothing to be laundered: like a lot of the guest rooms in the church, his wall had a set of bells and chutes. The bells were rung if he needed food, and he sent his dirty clothing or trash down the chutes.

Yuuri took a step back, thirty minutes later, to survey his progress. The floor was clear, and the individual feathers were cleared off the floor—Yuuri couldn’t risk a servant seeing a bunch of blue feathers dropped down the chute, so he shoved them into books. The room looked pristine, but for one finishing touch Yuuri ran the bath to make the room steamy—that way it seemed as if he bathed, like he claimed.

He had only a few minutes to wait until the High Priestess came back. The sun was setting and the window was his only companion; strange, when Yuuri thought he had the time to read he couldn’t find the energy, and now that he couldn’t pull out a book the time was passing unbearably slow without one. Eventually, when the sun was just slipping into its cradle, he heard her knocking. Whatever she needed, he prayed she wouldn’t keep him late into the night—past midnight he needed to sneak outside.

“You may enter.” Yuuri sat on his bed, trying not to look like he was hiding something.

“My thanks, Zephemera Incarnate.” The High Priestess came in, bowing deeply before she met his eyes. “I understand it is late, and you were prepping for bed, but General Cialdini requests to speak with you regarding a matter he finds important. The general is the leader of our army, like the knights who guard this church. They protect us from outside forces, your graciousness.”

Yuuri held his tongue, stopped himself from saying that he already knew these things. But of course, he was expected _not_ to. He nodded patiently, standing.

“If you will, I brought escorts; we’ll attend to him in one of our meeting rooms.”

Yuuri stepped out into the hall, following the priestess. Of course, there were already five knights waiting, and they all saluted in one large clank once Yuuri was out of the doorframe.

The trek down to the meeting room was relatively short, but it took a while to move anywhere inside of the church, especially if one’s room was at the top of a tall tower.

The “meeting room” was not what Yuuri imagined it to be—the furniture was ornate and posh with its velvety cushions and decorated armrests. The long carpet on the floor looked brand new or at the very least, never used—not to mention the fireplace on the other side of the room made things warmer; the night was surprisingly chilly, especially for this time of the year. The general stood in front of it, back and frighteningly large leather wings illuminated, with the fire roaring dangerously out of its hearth.

“General.” The High Priestess spoke, her voice suddenly curt. “I ask that you make this quick; the Incarnate is quite tired from a long day and wishes to rest.”

Yuuri glanced at her but didn’t say anything; she was technically putting words into his mouth, but the quicker Yuuri was out of here, the better. He did not want to spend more time talking to the general than he needed to.

“Hello, Zephemera.” Cialdini said. It always struck Yuuri as a tad odd when people referred to him with the goddess’ name—but as her incarnate, most considered the two of them one and the same. The general turned from the fireplace and the flames died back down, unnaturally quick. He bowed deeply, not showing any sign of mocking Yuuri. Still, he was on edge of the other man.

“Please, have a seat, get comfortable.” He said, gesturing to the chairs. Wasn’t it presumptuous of him, Yuuri thought, to act as the host when he himself was the guest? Yuuri looked to the High Priestess as he sat, but if she had a problem with it, she did not say anything. No, but her emotions were an open book—she was outwardly annoyed.

“You needn’t worry; I won’t keep you longer than a few minutes. High Priestess Minako and I discussed this at length, and we came to a mutual conclusion: you do not fully understand the threats posed against you.”

By the gods… He was _not_ about to lecture Yuuri about this, was he?

“I don’t expect you to understand the full ramifications of this, but Uzimara and Zephemera are at war—war against savages and beasts who wish only to see good men and children dead. You have some general idea of this, but you do not know what it fully implies, do you? Our enemies desire to rule the world beneath their fists and see tyranny reign across the lands. But you—you are a beacon of hope to the people, a guidance towards holiness and love. Our enemies would not hesitate to see that light extinguished—that is why we work so hard and tirelessly to protect you! Even if an action seems small or inconsequential, it may have bigger effects in the future. Uzimara and Zephemera are two great nations that strive endlessly to bring peace and unification to the world, yet others still would rather we be separated and fighting amongst ourselves. They would not hesitate to throw themselves at us if it meant a moment more of fighting.

“That is why you must entrust your wellbeing to us. It may be difficult to understand these things, but the complications of ensuring peace are far more dynamic than you think—although you stand at the very center of them. Yes, you have the very compassion and sympathy of Zephemera herself—but that could very well be a flaw if you allow it. Myths say that even a wretched thief or villainous sinner would be granted any wish if they so asked it of Zephemera; her sympathy knew no bounds. But for you, young Incarnate, it would be disastrous if we let you make important decisions based on mood. You should let us decide everything for you.”

Yuuri had been tuning the general out, but at his last words he looked up. He couldn’t meet the general’s eyes. He knew how both of them saw Yuuri: ignorant to what went on beyond his door, complacent, dependent— _unthinking_. He bit his lip, looking back down to his hands. It was best if they all assumed he was ignorant to the world around him; Yuuri’s world could drastically change if they knew he was a reader and minor scholar first, Incarnate second. He knew they simply wanted to make sure nothing bad ever happened to him.

_They’re scared of you._

The words echoed in Yuuri’s mind, reminiscent of Phichit’s claim from before. Yes, Yuuri had tremendous power—but he would never use that power to hurt anyone.

Yuuri looked up when the general cleared his throat. He was shocked to see the bent needle from before—it was still curved and bent unnaturally in on itself.

“This needle was made from a gold alloy made to resemble steel.”

Yuuri blanched, realizing what the general was implying—but realized immediately that he had to be telling a bold-faced lie. It hadn’t even been a day; there was no way he could’ve done the metallurgic tests. Not to mention, the needle was still in pristine condition, save for its bent shape. Yuuri had only scanned the Cyrean _L’enciclopedia Infinita’s_ section on metallurgy, but he still knew this for fact.

But he held his tongue. If there was one physical pain that ever truly ailed Yuuri, it was the pain of frustration—and it hurt like a bitch.

“It’s easy to forget the situation outside these church walls, but we’re here to remind you; you’re better off not concerning yourself with critical decisions. Now two heretics roam the streets. You needn’t feel responsible; you made hasty judgement based on rash feelings. This is where reflection comes in—it should be apparent now that caution should proceed…”

 _Liar. Liar and a manipulator._ Yuuri kept his head down and gaze firmly locked on his folded hands. Perhaps what General Cialdini was saying could’ve made sense, perhaps Yuuri could have listened—but every word he said was now accompanied with a grain of salt, since he wasn’t above lying when he thought he wouldn’t be caught.

“I think I understand.” Yuuri responded when the general finished talking, finally. The skies were dark outside; it was well beyond sundown. The general was long-winded, and although Yuuri managed to hold onto his feigned complacency, even the High Priestess’ annoyance had degraded into downright tiredness.

“Then I suppose—” The High Priestess stopped, stifling a yawn and pardoning herself. “I suppose it’s time we all retired for the night.”

“Thank you again, Incarnate, for blessing me with your presence.” The general said, smiling.

“The pleasure’s mine.” Yuuri said politely. He understood completely why the High Priestess did not like this man.

* * *

Shortly after, the High Priestess escorted Yuuri back to his room. Yuuri was slightly shocked when he arrived to his door. The guard for the night had changed; it was Phichit. It shouldn’t have surprised Yuuri, of course the night and day guards would shift. Yuuri couldn’t see his friend’s face—it was hidden by the helm—but he knew those bright blue wings anywhere. But it wasn’t mere imagination the awkwardness in the air and the stiffness of Phichit’s movements as he saluted. Yuuri could only spare a backwards glance as he entered his room. Well, Yuuri thought glumly, at the very least no one would interrupt him as he snuck out tonight. Still, Phichit was likely wide awake, and now he needed to wait for him to fall asleep.

Even with the sun completely set it could take hours. Once he was in his room he looked to his time piece. It was just past nine in the evening. He could wait.

He walked over to his window and looked over the church grounds. He let his gaze wander and found the slight light of the city, but even higher he found the surprisingly clear night. The moon was a tiny sliver in the sky and the stars threatened to outshine it. That gave Yuuri an idea.

He crouched down next to his bed and began sorting out books—carefully this time so as not to make a mess. While he was looking earlier he’d seen the book, it was mainly how he realized the general had been lying. _L’enciclopedia Infinita_ was written in Cyrean under a scorpion based publisher. He had a translation of the book; most recent copies had been banned and burned, so Phichit had a hell of a time acquiring it. It had facts on a wide range of subjects and it was a hefty read; Yuuri had never read it through to its completion. Still, it was an endearing birthday present to him.

He turned the book over to the back and began sifting through the last few pages before he found it—a map of the night sky. There were several different maps for both hemispheres and Yuuri skimmed their titles until he settled over Zephemera’s. He took the book to the window sill and set it down carefully, making sure it was far enough from the edge to not fall.

It would be the perfect night to stargaze, but more importantly, his first thought was what Viktor would think. The trees of the forest made it difficult to see the night sky, but if they were only going to be out for a little while… Well no one would notice if it was only for a few minutes, surely.

He was scanning the constellations until he came across one in particular that stood out. It was a set of constellations that made up one large one—Cyreus’ sash. She carried a cloth embroidered with all of the elements of the earth: water, fire, air, weather, life, and death. Nature or “Earth” was sometimes included as element, but overall it was considered a combination of all four working together to form everything in existence. What stood out to Yuuri was the shape of weather—seven stars that formed a shape similar to a snowflake. Cold and icy—just like Viktor’s eyes are. 

Yes, it would be a perfect night to stargaze.

* * *

 

Magic was widely considered unexplainable and mysterious, but even it had principles that it relied on. Magic had its basics that even a child was expected to master. These principles dictated what form magic took when it is drawn upon. One might initially find it surprising that sleeping spells and, say, healing fell under the same category—but it made sense once the qualities of Giving and Taking were understood.  Giving referred to bestowing another person with magic presence, be it benevolent like healing or malicious like a sleeping spell. Taking referred to drawing from surrounding energies and using magic to bolster oneself. Give and Take.

Viktor had to cast a little sleeping spell for Lilia. It was not so much that he put her immediately to sleep, just accelerated the process for her. Lilia was prone to napping behind the bar on especially slow nights; most if not all of the patrons were regulars—regular sympathizers, if not outright members of the rebellion. She didn’t often need to worry about them causing trouble while she caught shuteye. But now, of course, she was keeping an inadvertent eye on Viktor. She didn’t trust him to keep still, for obvious reasons—and Viktor was not about to give her a reason to start trusting him, either.

She was already tired—it was almost midnight and the tavern did not close for several more hours. Lilia was usually stoic, but Viktor could tell by her slowed movements and stifled yawns that she was growing tired. He needed her to fall asleep without her noticing the ruse of a spell. If he made his magic too powerful—he was prone to going all out, as a Descendant—she might fall asleep too suddenly and realize his ruse. So Viktor had to practice one of his least favorite things—patience. He accelerated her tiredness gradually over the course of an hour. Finally, with one tiny nudge, he saw her head bow slightly as she leaned over the bar. Now, he just needed to nudge her into a deep sleep—it would be disastrous if she woke up before Viktor got back.

Viktor stood slowly from his seat at the bar, trying to act nonchalant. Oh no, don’t mind him, he was just going to slip off to the bathroom. He walked slowly to the backroom, and once the door was shut behind him before he grabbed what he needed and made his way out the back entrance.

Viktor was practically skipping down the street as he made his way towards the inner wall. As per usual, the knights patrolling the inner exit saluted to him, but something was slightly off. There were more soldiers… but more distinctly, their livery was off. The uniforms of the Uzi-Zeph army were the same throughout—save for these.

These soldiers directly served General Cialdini.

So the bastard was in the city, Viktor thought bitterly as he began westward. Cialdini had been there in the time Viktor liberated Ithcal form its rule of petty aristocrats. It had been childishly easy to form a good-sized rebellion; there were plenty of Descended Cyreani and Kaimeran people on the islands. Uzimara was not above enslaving others for gain, and the Ithcal islands were seen as a major gain for their exotic fruits and resources. There was no need to incite rage in people who’d already wanted to see their enemy burn, they simply needed unification, and Viktor went to provide just that. While planning and even preparing may have been easy, executing proved to be the hardest. Descendants were strong on any scale, but they did not have the skill the same culpable skill the general’s elite had. In the end it was through sheer size that Viktor won, but he saw too many casualties that day to let the general walk away without his scorn.

But Viktor had more reason to be cautious, if not simply for Lilia’s warning. If there was anyone in this city who would recognize Viktor’s face, it would be the general.

He pulled his hood further down and hugged his cloak closer. The sky was clear, and it was the warm season—yet there was still a little nip to the air. He would not let anything dissuade his mood. It was still a perfect night to watch the stars.

Viktor went deeper into the forest than usual. They’re usual spot was fairly close to the edge of the forest, and although they weren’t bright, Viktor didn’t want any candle light to be seen. But he needed a clearing with a perfect view of the stars.

From beneath his robe, Viktor pulled out a good-sized basket. From it, he grabbed a large blanket and whipped it out, spreading it out on the ground. He knelt down on the blanket and grabbed a few small candles from the basket. These, he’d found in drawers around Lilia’s tavern—they were nothing fancy, but they’d create a mood nonetheless. Viktor rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, trying to draw upon his elemental magic. Dominion and control, in a way, was considered a unique quality of magic—it was Viktor’s strongest. This quality was usually called Elemental Affinity, for lack of a better term. With Cyreus’ gift he could influence elements and control them more powerfully than his other categories.

Viktor pressed his fingers to the wick of the first candle, then began to pinch hard. There was a string of smoke, and then Viktor removed his fingers. Once it was lit, he set it down on an adjacent rock, and then repeated this for the next one. Once he was done, he took in a long breath—he figured they were simple wax for light and reading, candles before magical light found Aeracross, but these were scented with a light perfume. A pleasant surprise.

Viktor was about to reach into his basket and pull out the last thing when he heard footsteps approaching. He couldn’t help the wide smile that sprung across his face or the slight spark to the candles when he looked up.

* * *

 

Yuuri was surprised, to say the least, to find a candlelit date set up for him when he found Viktor. The latter wasn’t in the usual place—where they first met—but Yuuri didn’t have to search very hard; he smelled the light perfume before he saw the glow of the candles. It reminded Yuuri of flowers, but with a warmer or spicier edge to them. With his spectacles on he scanned the woods briefly. That’s when he saw Viktor sitting on a large blanket, rummaging through a basket. When Yuuri drew closer, Viktor looked up—and his face lit up like a candle.

“What… is all of this?” Yuuri asked, shifting his book underneath his arm to lower his glasses.

“Come, come! Sit!” Viktor smoothed out a section of the blanket and patted it. “You’re a bit early, but it’s no problem. I figured it might be nice to relax and enjoy the night. The skies are clear and there’s barely a moon—it’s perfect for stargazing, don’t you think.”

Now it was Yuuri’s turn to smile. He lowered his head, trying to hide his face with his hood. Part of him had been scared Viktor would be bored at the prospect of staring at the stars, but now Yuuri was excited that it was Viktor’s first thought too. Clear skies meant brighter stars.

Yuuri sat down a bit awkwardly. The blanket did nothing to cushion the earth, but it was a nice thought. A bit sheepishly, he brought the encyclopedia from under his arm.

“I thought it would be a wonderful night to look at the stars,” Yuuri began. “So I brought a map of the night sky in this area. I’m not too familiar with the constellation names, but I was wondering if maybe you’d like to…?”

Yuuri trailed off with his question, waiting for Viktor’s response which came almost immediately.

“Of course I would! The stars here are so much different than my home, and I never got a chance to learn their names. I’d love it if you told me more about them.” Viktor inched closer to Yuuri, peering down at the book in his lap. Yuuri realized in the back of his mind that Viktor’s words implied he was from far away, but right now his mind was preoccupied with something else—how close Viktor was to him. For some reason, his chest felt inexplicably tight, and his face was hot. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure as he began to flip to the back of the huge encyclopedia.

“ _Ahem_. Th-There, I believe; that bright star is called Acleuft—it represents Cyrean’s head. From there…” Yuuri paused, referring to the book for a second. “Yes, _these stars_ ,” Yuuri pointed keenly towards the sky, tracing a jagged line down. “Tuflet, Ke, and Irius represent the beginning of Cyreus’ sash.”

Yuuri felt his breath hitch his throat. There was sudden warmth against his back, and when he looked over, he found Viktor’s face right next to him. But the latter wasn’t looking at Yuuri—he was following Yuuri’s finger and trying to discern the shape he’d pointed out. His shoulder was pressed firmly against Yuuri’s back, and his cheek was just inches from Yuuri’s own. Yuuri took a deep breath, asking his heart, for just this once, to be _still_. He tried to resume pointing out the constellations, but he found that his fingers were fumbling and his voice kept betraying him. Yet if Viktor found this annoying, he didn’t say a word about it—he only asked Yuuri further questions about the constellations.

“Actually, now that I remember,” Yuuri said once he explained all of the gods in the sky. “Cyreus’ symbol for weather reminded me of you. Just a bit.”

“A snowflake?” Viktor cocked his head to the side, and then gasped. “You don’t think I’m cold, do you?”

“No… well, yes. Just your eyes. They reminded me of ice when I first saw them.”

Viktor smiled his charming smile—and there it was again. The weird clenching in his chest that was uncomfortable, but made him want to smile all the same.

“Oddly enough, I get told that a lot. I personally don’t see it—I like to think I’m a warm person. I try to get people see that in me when they meet me. I want them to see someone inviting,” He paused, his smile growing soft. “What do _you_ think of me?”

“I…” Yes—Viktor was warm. He was inviting—he made Yuuri want to relax whenever he smiled. But it was at times like this where he couldn’t relax; Yuuri was suddenly reminded of how close they sat. No longer looking at the stars, Viktor’s cool gaze was trained on Yuuri, and the latter suddenly found that his breath was failing him and words were abandoning him. He bit his lips and looked down, unable to hold Viktor’s gaze any longer.

“I don’t know.” Yuuri said; it was the honest truth. A few moments passed, and Yuuri felt Viktor’s warmth leave him. He felt too cold now, and shame began to well inside of him as he realized Viktor must have been angry with him. Or at the very least hurt.

“I almost forgot; I got so caught up in watching the stars with you,”

Yuuri looked up in surprise, expecting Viktor to be angry with him. Instead, there was that disarming smile again, and he was leaning over a basket.

“I brought something to eat. It’s not much, just something to fill. Here,” Viktor reached out, handing something over to Yuuri. It was wrapped in a small cloth and when Yuuri opened it, he saw it was bread and cheese. The bread was not fresh, but it didn’t appear to be too old.

So he wasn’t upset? He was still smiling with the same effervescence demeanor from before. He was only handing Yuuri food?

Yuuri turned the bread over in his hand. At home, he could never eat this haphazardly—it went without saying that his food came to him after being poison checked numerous times over.

He put the cheese on the bread and took a bite.

It tasted like southern cheese on top bread—very unremarkable, to say the least.

“It’s delicious.” Yuuri said, smiling lightly. “This is very thoughtful… Thank you, Viktor.”

“Think nothing of it.” He said.

“And thank you for tonight as well.”

At this, Viktor seemed to deflate.

“Already?” Viktor asked. Yuuri nodded, casting an upward glance to the sky. He couldn’t see the moon from this position any longer, and the stars were far shifted. He looked back to Viktor, and before he’d even drawn the breath, Yuuri saw the question poised on his lips: ‘When can I see you again?’

“How about we meet again next week?”

“Beg your pardon?”

 “Yes; it’s a bit troublesome for me to sneak back out here so many times in a week. My mentor would have my head if she found out about this. So, how about it? This time next week?” Viktor asked, smiling brightly.

“I don’t know.” Yuuri said, looking back down. “I… really want to. Spending time with you is weird, but it makes me kind of happy. It makes things less… boring.”

Viktor was silent, looking down at the bread in his hands. Yuuri knew he was being unfair. Viktor wouldn’t hesitate to tell Yuuri anything if he asked, yet he could not even reveal his own name. The first thing on his mind was that she should end whatever this was with Viktor. The second thing was that a week isn’t _so_ bad. With time between these outings, he had less of a chance of being caught, right?

And, at this rate, could he let this be goodbye?

“Well… a week is better than a day, is it not?”

“Of course, of course!” Viktor shot across the blanket, wrapping Yuuri in a warm hug. Yuuri was more prepared for it this time, but he still couldn’t help the falter his heart made.

Viktor pulled back, and the two of them stood. Yuuri helped gather the blanket up—albeit his idea of folding was simply balling the item up. He watched as Viktor extinguished the candles by hand; he simply pinched the wick and the fire died out with a fizzle.

“Wait, one more thing—”Yuuri was about to ask, but stopped once he realized how brazen he was being. He was about to ask Viktor where he came from. Yuuri, who shot down all of Viktor’s question, dared to ask a personal question. He drew back, reprimanding himself while Viktor drew even closer.

“What is it?” He asked, peering down and trying to get a good look beneath Yuuri’s hood. “Were you about to ask me something?”

“No, I… it was nothing. A stupid question.”

“ _Stupid?!_ I highly doubt anything you say could be _stupid_.” Viktor insisted. “Ask me anything you wish!”

Yuuri looked up, a tad shocked. Before he could second guess himself, he asked: “Where are you from.”

Viktor’s face lit up once more.

“I’m so glad you asked!” Viktor popped his cape back with a flourish of his arm winked. “I hail from the beautiful country of Cyrean. The northernmost part where I’m from is a little territory known as Taras. Oh, and I come from a family of butterflies! Do you want to see my wings?”

“No! No, no, not _here_.” Yuuri said, taking a step back in surprise.

Viktor’s smile took on a slier edge. “Then are you inviting me somewhere more private?”

There was a beat of silence for Yuuri, and then he gasped, pulling his hood down over his face and hiding the mad blush that was blooming.

“Hm? Is something the matter?” Viktor asked—not mockingly, but with genuine confusion in his voice. Yuuri sighed, trying to get his nerves back in order, and his heart back from explosion.

“N-No, I’m fine I think.” He said, still covering his face. “Actually, Viktor. I think I know what I think about you.”

Yuuri paused, but only briefly. “I think you’re very strange.”

“ _Ah!_ ” Viktor winced and put a hand to his chest, as if he were hurt.

“Wait, wait! You’re very strange, but in a way that makes want to know more about you. You say strange things that I don’t expect, and you do such spontaneous things, not to mention you have no qualms about revealing anything to me. You hardly even know me! I don’t think I can ever tell you who I am; does this not bother you at all? I can tell you without fear that I’m not familiar with too many people in this world, but if you were a character in a book, I don’t think I’d be able to describe you. That’s why you’re so strange, Viktor.”

“Strange…” Viktor made a noise, and Yuuri realized he was laughing. He looked up, surprised to see Viktor stifling a laugh with the back of his hand.

“You find _me_ strange? All this time, I’d been thinking there was no one more peculiar in this world than the angel who breathed life back into me. But I didn’t think you _strange_ at the time, per se. I just thought you were endearing.”

Yuuri felt a jolt pass through him, and then his chest felt tight once more. He watched as Viktor knelt down to pick up his basket.

“Perhaps I am strange. Maybe I am strange for being drawn to someone as strange as you. But, in all my strangeness, I’ve never been wrong about a person. Is being strange a bad thing?”

“No,” Yuuri said. “Being strange is good.”

A smile spread across Viktor’s face, a more contented one. Book in hand, Yuuri watched as Viktor hid his basket beneath his cloak.

“Until next time, stranger.” Viktor said.

“Until next time, Viktor.” Yuuri nodded.


	5. Dreaming of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank anyone who's left me a comment on this fic--all of your kind words keep me going and writing! And a little celebration for breaking 1000 hits. I couldn't have done it without all of you, or my kind beta reader vivid-nemesis.

Viktor slipped back into the tavern, and as fate would have it, Cyreus was looking down on him. Lilia was still fast asleep at the counter, and although Viktor had not been gone very long, he had still been fearful of her waking. A patron could’ve decided they needed an extra pint or some such, and he would’ve needed to explain his absence. He doubted that would’ve gone over smoothly. Trying not to seem like a smug bastard, he tapped on the wood of the bar. She rose with a start, looking around in confusion.

“Did I fall asleep?” she asked, scowling as she blinked the fog from her eyes. “How long was I out?”

“No more than a few minutes,” Viktor lied.

“Yes; it feels like it. I don’t even remember falling asleep.” She smothered a yawn, shaking her head and stretching her pinioned wings.

“Hm, perhaps you should go to bed then? It’s been a long week—you must be so very tired!”

“Actually, I feel much better from my nap,” Lilia said, eyeing Viktor with a suspicious glance. “I will stay and watch the front,” she continued before nodding towards the far corner.

“Why not make yourself useful and sweep?” she added.

Viktor balked at the idea, instead eyeing a piece of paper on the counter. He hadn’t noticed it before, and it was definitely past his radar when Lilia was sleeping on it.

“What’s this?” he made to grab for it, but Lilia snatched it away quickly—tearing the paper slightly with her talons.

“This doesn’t concern you at the moment. Sweep.”

Viktor soft whining noise as he walked over to the broom and pan, sending childish glares over his shoulder towards Lilia, who was crumpling the paper into a tiny ball. He didn’t miss the fact that she tucked the ball into her pocket, rather than discarding it.

* * *

 

Exactly two days had passed before Yuuri and Phichit made up. Yuuri made the first move, knowing that if there was any way to dismiss any awkwardness between him and his friend, it was with humor. He had gotten the idea once he saw the spider crawling near his window.

Yuuri knocked on his own door. On the other side, metal rustled and a confused voice echoed in response:

“Yes?”

“Excuse me, guard? You have to come and help me—there’s a spider on the far wall and I can’t reach it.”

“A _spider_?” Phichit asked. There was confusion in his voice, but then it was accompanied by a light laugh. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it for you.”

Yuuri opened his door and took a step back, trying to suppress his smile to no avail. He gestured to the area above his window, and Phichit straitened his back, marching over.

“Oh, but whatever you do, don’t kill the poor thing,” Yuuri said, purposefully trying to sound dramatic.

“Fear not, Incarnate.” Phichit removed his spear from his side. He stepped closer to the window, holding the back of the blade out towards the spider. With a few careful nudges, it crawled onto the blade, and Phichit set it on the window’s ledge. He watched it crawl away before shutting the window.

“There—all done!” He tucked his spear onto his back and clapped his hands together—a jarring metal noise.

“I knew I could count on you,” Yuuri said, breaking into a sheepish grin. Phichit took off his helm to reveal his own smile. The two broke down laughing before falling into their own relaxed routine.

* * *

_It was reminiscent of the first time they spoke. The first time, really, Yuuri had spoken to anyone besides the High Priestess. Yuuri was just coming out of his teens—around eighteen or nineteen. Phichit’s youth was more obvious at that time, but he was the only person he could rely on at the time._

_Yuuri nudged open the door and cleared his throat. Bright blue wings moved up and down softly with each snore, but didn’t rouse. He tried louder. Nothing._

_“Excuse me!” Yuuri whisper-yelled._

_The knight rose to attention, pulling his spear out in an offensive position. He looked around the hall in confusion until Yuuri cleared his throat again._

_“Over here.”_

_“Huh? Oh!” The knight immediately stiffened in a salute. Yuuri waved his hands._

_“No, no! I’m sorry but… I need your help.”_

_“Yes Incarnate; is there trouble? How can I assist you?”_

_“There’s a spider on the far wall. I’ve tried reaching it but… it’s too high up! Can you use your spear and…?” Yuuri gestured vaguely. “…for me?”_

_The knight was silent for a moment, and Yuuri didn’t know what he was thinking behind that helm until he snapped out of it._

_“Right! Of course—spider,” the knight mumbled, taking a short step forward._

_Yuuri stepped to the side, letting the knight in. He looked around the room, stepping softly as if it were going to implode._

_“Over there.” Yuuri pointed to the far wall, where a large black spider sat. The knight held his spear up once more, blade end._

_“No—No, no, no. Don’t kill it.” Yuuri blanched, reaching out to hold the spear down. The knight jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the weapon before stepping away from Yuuri._

_“What? My apologies, but what would you have me do with it?” the knight asked in confusion._

_“Let it go outside, with your spear—use it like a bridge,” Yuuri explained._

_“Oh… I see.” The knight nodded, armor clunking, and turned back to the wall. With the blunt end of the blade facing the spider, he nudged it closer ever so slightly until it began to crawl onto the spear. Then, swiftly, the knight brought the spear over to the window sill and tapped the blade onto the stone. The spider crawled off, and once it was outside he shut the window._

_“Taken care of, Incarnate sir!”_

_“Thank you so much—you’re a life saver!”_

_The knight took a step back. “Me? No, it was nothing.”_

_“Honestly, I can’t thank you enough. What’s your name?” Yuuri asked, beaming._

_At this, the knight seemed to almost fall over. Yuuri cocked his head to the side, wondering if he’d said something strange._

_“You want to know my name?_ My _name?”_

_“Who else would I be asking?” Yuuri asked, genuinely confused._

_“Of course! Please, forgive my boldness.” He bowed deeply at the waist. “My name is Phichit Chulanont.”_

_“Hello Phichit.” Yuuri smiled, nodding his head in return like he’d seen the High Priestess do on occasion. “My name is Yuuri. I don’t have a surname, unfortunately.”_

_At this, the knight—Phichit—audibly gasped. He took several more steps back, eventually bumping into the wall and falling over._

_“What in the—are you okay?!” Yuuri walked over tentatively, bending down and stretching out his hand. Again, Phichit balked and scooted further away._

_“How is it that you can—so freely! Why would you…?! You—your—!”_

_“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”_

_“You’re the_ Incarnate _,” Phichit stated._

_“…Yes. Yes, I am.”_

_“And I’m a lowly knight! I am an ant! An ant! And yet you’ve invited me into your room_ and _told me your name.”_

_“Oh no…” Yuuri muttered, looking around. “My room is quite a mess, isn’t it? I’ve been meaning to send those clothes down…”_

_“That’s not the point!” Phichit shook his head, helm clanking._

_“Then…” Yuuri paused. “My name? Is something wrong with it?”_

_“What? No, no! Your name is just fine! The point is that you can’t speak to me so casually, not a being as powerful as you. Much less, you can’t be telling your name to people so haphazardly.”_

_“Why can’t I?”_

_“Because… well, because—because you’re Zephemera Incarnate.”_

_“It’s true; I don’t get a chance to talk to people that often.” Yuuri tapped his chin before correcting himself. “No, not at all. But it has nothing to do with being the goddess’ incarnation, I think. I just don’t have the opportunity… Yes, that’s it. In reality, I’m just like you! It doesn’t matter if I’m an incarnation, my name is no more special than yours is. Here, let me help you up.” Yuuri held out his hand again. Phichit ignored it, bracing himself on his knee._

_“Don’t; you could hurt yourself on the metal,” he explained to Yuuri’s dismayed look. Phichit paused for a moment before speaking. “If… If I may be so bold as to ask, Incarnate?”_

_“Just call me Yuuri.”_

_“No way! I mean, no, I could never be that presumptuous towards you, sir.”_

_Yuuri let out a small sigh. “Then what is your question?”_

_“Well… why did you call for my help regarding something as small as a spider?”_

_“Ah! Well, no matter what I tried I could not get it to crawl down far enough for me to reach it.”_

_“But you’re all powerful? Simply think of doing something and it bends to your will!”_

_“It’s not that simple,” Yuuri said, shaking his head. “And I shouldn’t use the goddess’ powers for trivial reasons.”_

_“Oh… I didn’t think of that.” Then Phichit paused once more. “But why not kill it? Spiders are our natural enemies.”_

_Yuuri cocked his head to the side again. “And why would that be? Sure they’re scary, but I figured they would have better luck finding food outside than in my room.”_

_“No, that’s not…” Phichit sighed, but straightened up once he realized what he was doing. “What I meant was our war with Cyrean.”_

_“The_ war _?” Yuuri knew, of course, of the ongoing war—it was job to bless battlefields on Zephemeran or Uzimaran soil. But something didn’t make sense to him… “Why would we be at war with Cyrean? It’s Cyreus’ homeland—why would we be at war with our own deities? I find that hard to believe.”_

_“You bless the fields but you don’t even know their history?” Phichit asked, beyond himself in confusion._

_“The holy scripture states clearly that the war is against savages in the East who want to pillage the world,” Yuuri stated matter-of-factly. “Uzimara and Zephemera_ especially _.”_

_“Ha! Everyone and their mother knows that the holy scripture can be taken with a grain of salt. You should read a real history book sometime.”_

_Yuuri bristled, crossing his arms. “Oh? There are plenty of historical documents here in the church.”_

_“None of them can even be compared to l’Enciclopedia Infinita—the single best history book_ ever _,” Phichit said, crossing his own arms in turn. “A new volume is written about every five years, making it the most accurate thing you can read.”_

_“Oh? Well I’d like to see this history book of yours,” Yuuri said._

_“Consider it done—wait! No, I can’t bring that thing in here.”_

_“Too late. You tote it so highly, so I_ have _to read it now,” Yuuri said with a sly grin. “I’ll compare it to the scripture.”_

_“Trust me, the differences are astounding,” Phichit said, shaking his head. “This is probably a terrible idea but… Yes, alright—I’ll bring the book.”_

_“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?” Yuuri asked. Phichit stiffened._

_“Urgh, I guess that is what that means.” He hung his head low. “I’m going to be in so much trouble if anyone finds out about this.”_

_“Don’t worry—I’ll cover you.”_

_“Gee, thanks,” Phichit replied—and it’s sarcastic, but before he can reprimand himself, Yuuri is flashing a sincere smile and ushering him out the door._

* * *

Of course Yuuri was surprised by what he found in the encyclopedia. It was nothing like the holy scripture, _Zephemera Biblion_ , which said that Uzimara suffered attacks from unintelligent savages and sought to drive them back. No, it made it seem as if the attacks stemmed from Uzimara themselves. Yuuri had refused to believe it, returning the book to Phichit the following night, but then Phichit pointed out something.

“You say that the savages were unintelligent and uncivilized, but why haven’t you asked yourself this: Why would Uzimara let a war go on for so long against a lesser enemy?”

Yuuri was stumped at this. Phichit began to bring more and more books. Sometimes, the books were so big he had to hold on to them for several days. All of them pointed towards the same means, and Yuuri realized something. No, he realized two things. The first was that the holy scripture was based on lies, and everything the High Priestess had ever said to him was false. The second was that he and Phichit had become friends.

It was around this time that Phichit admitted most of his books came from illegal means. But Yuuri didn’t care; he wanted to read more of them. From philosophy to romantic narratives, Yuuri managed to find a bond in Phichit that he would never find elsewhere; he found himself a friend. Yuuri learned many things about Phichit—that he was drafted into the army at a young age. People his age weren’t expected to live long on the battlefield, but the Uzi-Zeph army recruited native islanders because they were expected to be sturdier built and could handle Kaimeran weather better. That, and the fact that they could abuse laws restricting age without nobles being affected. Phichit, however, showed to have exemplary skills in battle despite not being a Descendant and being a young adolescent. He was then taken and groomed to be a royal guard, and that was how he ended up working in the church.

And now a different bond was forming, but he couldn’t place the word “friend” onto this one.  Back then, when he’d first met Phichit, he was naïve and thought the world was a small place. Now that he knew its true magnitude—or at least had its general scale—everything was put into perspective. Every time he went out of line, he put someone else’s life in danger. Being Phichit’s friend was a bomb waiting to go off. Sneaking out to the streets of Aeracross put everyone who was ever in charge of his safety in danger. Talking to Viktor put _Viktor_ in danger. Yuuri’s occupation is that of a deity, and self-sacrifice is not in the description.

Yuuri sat next to his window, lantern off and the sunrise lighting his room. It had been a few days since his last meeting with Viktor, and there wasn’t a moment where the other wasn’t on his mind. This was how Ki Jiao described her feelings for Zahara; for every day they spent together, there was thirty in-between that entailed only loneliness and heartache. Ki Jiao’s story ended in tragedy, so Yuuri should be thankful, at the very least, that his didn’t have to.

He had a small pouch in his hands—it contained a handful of dranings. Dranings were made of a silver alloy, and had only two other subunits: a fil and a flud, made of nickel and tin respectively. Ten fils equaled about one flud, and 100 fluds equaled one draning. A single flud could probably buy two loaves of bread, for references’ sake.

The first few times Yuuri had left his room, he had to buy himself a cloak and commoner’s clothes. However, he’d been forced to part with a small piece of jewelry. Yuuri had considered it something inconsequential—nothing dear to him or anything that would be noted missing—but it fetched him a handsome sum nonetheless. But that was the only thing Yuuri could consider parting with; anything else would garner too much suspicion in too many ways. Most of Yuuri’s jewelry had been passed down for generations and were inscribed with various runes. Yuuri taking them to a jeweler or goldsmith would be too risky. Not to mention, if they came up missing it would not be Yuuri taking the blame—someone else, likely a maid or knight, would be accused of the theft and executed, and Yuuri would not be able to defend them unless he called himself out in the process.

No, it was absolutely out of the question. But the idea was still sitting in Yuuri’s mind… The thought had been on Yuuri’s mind since their second meeting, that he should put an end to this early and not cause any unneeded heartache. Perhaps it would be easier to say goodbye with a gift.

Yuuri recounted the contents of the bag; about twenty dranings. It would have to do.

* * *

By the time Phichit went back into the hall, the sun was still in the sky. It was slipping over the horizon lazily, but it was still earlier than Yuuri was used to. Phichit was snoring lightly—and it was likely he wouldn’t stay asleep, not this early. And Yuuri did not know Phichit’s schedule; the guard could change at a moment’s notice. But Yuuri took the risk anyway.

 _Two more times_ , Yuuri reminded himself as he slipped past the tapestry. He would not be out long—no more than half an hour at the most.

Two more times would he allow himself to sneak out: once, right now, to buy this gift, and then again to meet Viktor for the last time.

Yuuri pulled his hood closer once he made it beyond the grate, making his way swiftly to the shopping center. It was the only place he was familiar with, though he was becoming increasingly acquainted with the city’s exits. This time, when he came to the market area it was not the book stalls he visited. Yuuri had to try a different place to buy; when he sold his ring last, the jeweler regarded him with heavy skepticism on the origins of the ring. While Yuuri had indeed been dodgy with his answers, he couldn’t very well tell the exact truth. But he couldn’t risk the shop keep recognizing his face, either.

He opened the door, bowing his head slightly.

“Oh! Is something wrong good sir?” The shop keep straightened behind his counter, eyeing Yuuri warily. “If you’re here from complaints, I can assure you they’re unfounded—I run an honest establishment.”

“No, no. I’ve come only to buy.”

“Ah… I see.” Now his wariness turned to suspicion. He’d only said two sentences—what reason did he have to distrust him already?!

“Perchance… you’re not here looking for a lizard, are you?”

“Lizard?” Yuuri asked. “Why would I…”

The jeweler cleared his throat, sitting up straight again. “Never mind, never mind! Shall we then? What are you looking for this evening, kind sir?”

“I’m not really sure…” Yuuri walked further in, looking over the shelves and the glittering objects and gems.

“May I ask the occasion?”

“I… want to say goodbye to someone.”

“Ah, yes, I figure we’ve all been there. Let me guess; they’re sending you off south or west or somewhere far in these upcoming battles? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect something. I even carry blessed metals—to ward off the animals and filthy insects on the battlefield.”

Yuuri winced at the unapologetic slurs, but tried to keep his expression neutral and hidden beneath his hood.

“No, no, no blessed metals—I don’t think I could afford that.” And it would most certainly harm Viktor.

The jeweler hopped down from his chair, making an affirmative noise, and came around the counter. He stopped in front of a few shelves, carrying a tray of some sort, and began placing objects on them.

“Don’t suppose you know her ring size?” the jeweler asked over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t,” Yuuri replied. “Oh, the gift is for a man.”

“I see, I see.”

“Ah, and one more thing!” Yuuri called out, startling the jeweler a bit. “Do you have anything made of pure gold?”

“Made of _gold_?” the shop keep asked in confusion. “Why in heaven’s name… ahem, pardon me, but what use would you have for gold?”

“I… need something… cheap?” Yuuri offered. Gold was not highly valued in Zephemera, as a certain percentage of the noble population found it to be literal poison. Most of any gold that came into Zephemera was confiscated blessed metals, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out its unpopularity. It was a metal that directly checked a Zephemeran Descendant’s powers, and under some circumstances could even kill. Any raw or unblessed gold was considered rare, but only because it did not come into Zephemeran borders often and had little monetary value.

“And… pure gold, you said?” the keep asked again.

“Yes.” Yuuri looked around the shop, worried. “Unblessed. Do you… have anything like that?” He didn’t know if he had time to make another trip, or if he could find another jewelry shop on this side of time. And if this shop didn’t carry it, Yuuri doubted he would have better luck elsewhere. He might succeed in getting himself arrested, though.

“Ah, b-but of course! Right here, stay a moment.” The jeweler disappeared into a back room. Yuuri waited for no more than a minute before he returned holding a long chain and locket. He beckoned Yuuri over to the counter once more as he sat down.

“I came into this piece many years ago. I’d intended to smelt and sell the ingots for whatever pocket change, but I never found the chance. Hm, solid gold rarely does rare on the market anyway.”

_Click!_

Yuuri heard the door of the shop open and close, but he ignored it, taking the locket part into his hand and inspecting it. The outside of the case was decorated with simple filigree, but what really caught his eye was the clear opening in the front of the case, where a picture was likely to go.

“Now, for this piece I’d be willing to part at, a, hum… Twelve dranings. Ha! Only joking, good sir, I—”

“Only twelve? Really?” Yuuri asked, inadvertently cutting the jeweler off as he looked up. “Hm, I guess that’s a good price…”

“ _Really_?” The jeweler looked up, surprised. “I mean… _really_? You’ll take it for _twelve_?!”

“Sure, one moment.” Yuuri fished out his coin purse, digging around unbeknownst to the approaching footsteps behind him.

“But of course!” The jeweler scooped up the locket, sending a look past Yuuri, and placed it into a bag.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Yuuri jumped at the sudden voice, sending a look over his shoulder. Then his eyes widened.

“Don’t tell me you’re pinching pennies again!” Viktor said in genuine shock. He didn’t seem to notice Yuuri yet, who was standing with his mouth wide open in shock. “Not after I helped you out yesterday.”

“You’ll have to wait a moment,” the jeweler said, no small amount of disdain. “I’m busy with another customer.”

“I see, and…” Viktor stopped, eyes finally settling—and truly inspecting—Yuuri. He took a step closer and peered down, expression turning from bemusement to genuine surprise.  Yuuri reflexively took a step back, bumping into the counter.

“It’s you!” His face lit up like a candle, a heart-shaped smile gracing his face. “It’s you!”

“It’s me,” Yuuri repeated.

“What are you doing here?!” Viktor asked, hands clasped, but he didn’t let Yuuri answer. “I came here to pick up a package. Are you buying something? Selling?”

“Ah, I, oh!” Yuuri suddenly remembered the gift, looking back to the counter. He breathed a sigh of relief once he saw that it was in a decorative bag. “Yes, I was just buying something.”

“So you two know each other…” The jeweler looked between Viktor and Yuuri, scowling deeply. “ _Should have_ _guessed_ ,” the shop keep muttered as he disappeared from the counter. Yuuri looked on in confusion, wondering what set off the older man’s sudden shift in attitude.

Yuuri fumbled with his coin bag, trying to count and fish out twelve draning coins without looking like a fool. He failed at the latter, but managed to hand over the money.

“What are you buying? Is he trying to swindle you? Can I see it?” Viktor’s hand moved towards the bag on the counter and Yuuri reflexively grabbed his wrist.

“ _No_. Absolutely not.” Yuuri said. Viktor blinked in surprise, and Yuuri let go, realizing how rude he was being. “It…it’s…” There was no safer route than honesty. “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Viktor clasped his hands together, a dreamy expression taking.

“Here’s your ‘surprise’.” The jeweler returned holding a package in his hands. He dropped it on the table with no little amount of force. “Fifteen.”

“I still can’t haggle you down a bit?” Viktor asked.

“The price was prearranged, my good sir,” the jeweler said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Ah, well, it was worth a chance,” Viktor said before handing over a small bag. With his hand on the package, the jeweler counted out the coins. With a small harrumph of approval he handed it over. Viktor nodded graciously, slipping the package into a shoulder bag under his cloak, before turning to Yuuri, who grabbed his own bag before putting it away.

“I have so many questions!” Viktor beamed.

 _And I, none of the answers_ , Yuuri thought solemnly. Yuuri looked down when he felt something warm grab his hand, and then back up in shock once he saw Viktor leading him out.

“Where are we going?” Yuuri asked, his eyes too concentrated on their interlocked hands to acknowledge the strange glances of passersby. This particular area of the market, where the wealthy lined and emptied their pockets, was not so busy this time of the day. But whoever had lingered in the roads seemed to be making themselves scarce at the sight of two Descendants.

“Hm? Oh, nowhere in particular. I just wanted to take a walk.”

“A walk?” Yuuri dug his heels and tightened his grip on Viktor’s hand, bringing them to a stop. “No, no, I have to get back. I’m not even supposed to be out here. I need to get back home before someone realizes I’m missing.” Yuuri murmured the last part to himself, but still bit his tongue when he realized he might be running his mouth.

Viktor’s elated smile faltered briefly, and he loosened his hand so that his fingers were merely ghosting over Yuuri’s. It’s like he wants to say something, but knows what Yuuri’s answer would be: ‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.’ Yuuri felt terrible.

“Wait, I…” he drew his hand back, looking towards the ground. Perhaps, if only for a little while. “…A short walk might not be so bad?”

Viktor smiled again, but it was not the same ecstatic joy.

“Wonderful; I’m still so new to this city.” He moved away, looking down the avenue and beginning to walk. “Perhaps you can show me around?”

“Oh, I.” Yuuri’s hand felt cold now. “I’m actually… not too familiar with these streets myself.” He admitted, knowing only a few of the squares and, more recently, the streets that led to the inner walls.

“Oh really now?” Viktor cast a half-smile back to Yuuri. “I suppose that makes sense.”

That was a… cryptic response.

“Hey, Stranger.” Viktor turned around completely now, walking backwards. “Is it inconvenient to meet with me?”

Yuuri looked up, eyes wide and suddenly knowing where this line of questioning was going.

 _He thinks I hate him_ , Yuuri thought, and the idea made him want to throw up. It was irrational, he knew, but the words echoed in his mind once more: _He thinks I hate him, or I have an ulterior motive._

“Is this a bother to you?” Viktor asked, playfully hopping over a loose brick. “Why inconvenience yourself? If it were a huge inconvenience, I know _I_ wouldn’t bother with it.”

His words held no malice, only something akin to a childishly morbid curiosity. He asked, yet he didn’t truly want to know, and he knew the answer might hurt. Yet he asked.

They were nearing a plaza, and the hustle of people moving to and fro spiked Yuuri’s anxiety. Without a second thought he grabbed Viktor’s hand and pulled him into a nearby alleyway. Still holding onto his hand, he looked down the other end of the alley, pretending to check it but in reality just averting his gaze.

“Meeting you isn’t inconvenient,” Yuuri said. “Rather, it’s not you that’s a bother to me, but the risk of meeting you that makes me so worried. Every time I sneak out, I put myself at a greater risk of being caught. And if anyone ever finds out about this… the consequences would be dire. For you and for me.”

Perhaps the time was now. Yuuri can feel the locket hanging in his cloak; if he ended things now, perhaps his heart wouldn’t hurt, and his anxieties would cease. The complacency and boredom of before would return, but would it be so bad? The answer is probably—it probably would. But meeting Viktor like this could only end in both of them being hurt, and Yuuri didn’t know if he could live with that.

Yuuri imagined never seeing Viktor again, and there was a pain in him. It wasn’t the tightness of his chest whenever Viktor touched or spoke to him, but a clenching pain that made him want to cry.

“But I don’t want to stop seeing you,” he continued. _I don’t want to, but I have to_. “I know that every logical bone in my body says to stay away, but I don’t want to, and it’s stupid, but I’d rather _keep seeing you_.

“Viktor,” Yuuri looked down at the ground. “I think it’s fair that you should know this; if anyone ever finds out that you’ve so much as looked at me, you could be _killed_.”

He bit his lip. He’d said too much hasn’t he? If Viktor found out now, Yuuri was sure he’d come to hate him. Yuuri couldn’t find the courage to look back and gauge Viktor’s reaction.

“You’re…” Viktor paused, realization sparking in voice. “You must be nobility, aren’t you?”

Yuuri looked back, confused. _That_ was the conclusion he’d come to?

“ _Nobility_ …?” Yuuri repeated the words with equal confusion, finally looking back to Viktor. He didn’t want to lie and agree, but Yuuri didn’t dare argue Viktor’s assumption.

“I think I understand.” Viktor put his free finger to his lips in thought. “You’ve bared your heart to me, I think it’s only fair that I do the same, don’t you agree?”

“No, goddess no, I might die of embarrassment.” Yuuri let go of Viktor’s hands, using his own to hide his face. His hands felt clammy, and he felt his shame rise further. He heard Viktor’s laugh, and no sooner was he prying Yuuri’s hands away from his face. He held both of Yuuri’s hands out, head down and eyes closed. He looked calm but Yuuri noted something; he could feel the warmth in Viktor’s palms, and the anxiety and shakiness as he took a breath.

“Hm… I’m not really good at this whole ‘emotional’ thing, so I think I’ll just be blunt; I think I’m in love with you. I can count on one hand how many times we’ve met, but despite it all, I find myself falling harder and harder for you. I know you’re hiding something from me, but that’s okay! I’m quite literally trying to overthrow your country, I can’t really expect you to be transparent with me, now can I? But I decided already that I don’t care how much you don’t tell me. I can tell, at least, that you’ve been honest with me. But that’s not what makes me want to see you every day.”

Viktor looked up to the sky. “Maybe I fall in love easy—that’s what people tell me, at least. I don’t really care if it’s love or infatuation, I’m still so happy to have met you.”

Yuuri looked up to the night sky and saw nothing but stars. His anxiety peaked.

“I have to go.” It was late but not late enough. Yuuri last left Phichit asleep, but he’d be a fool to think he’d stay that way.

“Are you sure?” Viktor asked, taking a step forward. Yuuri nodded, taking his eyes from the stars and looking back down the alleyway.

“I have to leave—right now.” He let go of Viktor’s hands, taking a step back into the alleyway. “I’m sorry. Please—don’t follow me.”

Yuuri took off in a sprint, not bothering to look and see if Viktor heeded him, trying to move quickly but also not draw attention.

The run felt painfully long, but eventually Yuuri made it to the grate, hidden from the public eye. It was the same hassle to get it open and shut, and now it felt like it was taking forever, but he was finally in. The long and damp corridors and stairways were practically memorized, but something unexpected happened. The corridor shook around him—it was a slight tremor—but it was enough to throw him off balance for more than a second. He braced himself on his hands and one elbow, but there was a burst of pain—but as soon as it appeared, it faded. The entire hallway lit up in his mind; rats scurrying in the distance, still puddles yet to be trampled through, the moss and mold growing into the stone and brick.

There was a near deafening boom, and the corridor shook. The stone beneath Yuuri’s hands blew away, leaving him in a small crater, and sent another tremor throughout the corridor.

“I don’t have time for this!” he murmured frantically under his breath, getting to his feet and continuing, carefully this time. One problem at a time.

He got to the tapestry door and pushed it aside. Horror filled his stomach when he saw the corridor outside his room; there was no guard and his door was standing wide open. Dread made his limbs feel heavy, but he rushed to the door and looked inside.

Standing inside moving about in a flurry of blue feathers was Phichit. He was looking around the room, spear drawn.

“ _Phichit!_ ” Yuuri closed the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief as he walked in.

“Yuuri?! Yuuri!” Phichit lowered his spear and bounded over, stopping short. “Oh my god, Yuuri?”

“Shh, shh, I know how this looks.” Yuuri waved his hands, trying to calm his friend down.

“Yuuri, oh my god, I was so _worried._ There was a tremor in the building—I think it was another earthquake I was half asleep but I got worried so… So I went to check on you… You didn’t answer when I knocked, and I-I thought maybe you were asleep but your light was on, so I opened the door but you weren’t _inside_.”

“I know.” Of all the people, at least it was Phichit who’d found out. Phichit he could trust—but it would still be hell to explain this. “I know. I snuck out.”

Phichit gasped. “You… snuck out?” Phichit opened the window of his helm to reveal an…excited expression.

“ _You_ snuck out? Why didn’t you tell me—you know you can trust me.” Phichit fanned himself, pulling back the metal collar of his gorget.

“Wait! We have to continue this later—they’re going to be coming up here.” Phichit rushed past Yuuri and out into the hall, flashing his friend a thumbs up before pulling down his helm.

Yuuri sighed, but let out a little laugh. Leave it to Phichit—he could trust his friend not to blab, but he couldn’t trust him not to get overexcited.

Earthquakes were not infrequent in Aeracross. There were a handful a year, but thankfully, Yuuri had never seen a large earthquake. That didn’t stop half of the church guard from coming up to check on him.

His room was still clean from when he’d hidden his books several days ago, so now he only needed to cover up the occasional feather, and set whatever had fallen over right. Barely another five minutes passed before he heard knocking at his door. He took a deep breath and walked over to the door.

“Come in.” He stepped aside, allowing the— _the general?!_

Yuuri felt his breath catch in his throat, and he covered his mouth, trying not to cough.

“A thousand pardons, Zephemera, but we had to make sure there was no structural damage in your room, and that you were safe and sound,” General Cialdini said, bowing deeply.

“Of course,” Yuuri said. The High Priestess entered after him, bowing just as deep.

“You have my deepest apologies for any confusion or fear,” she apologized, looking around at the walls and the window. “It was a minor earthquake, but we must be diligent nonetheless.”

“Yes, I…” Yuuri trailed off, feeling the color trail from his face. The general was on the other side of the room, glossing over Yuuri’s dresser. Sitting on top, prim and proper and innocuous, was the _Zephemera Biblion_. But even from here, Yuuri could see it—a bright blue feather wedged between its pages.

“Ah!” Yuuri crossed the room and snatched the book up, holding it tightly to his chest so that the feather stayed put. The general took a step back, the surprise in his face turning into suspicion.

“This, ahem, book means a lot to me. I’d rather you didn’t touch it.” Yuuri said.

“First church print, I presume?” the general asked. “Annotated and all? I was merely curious; I’m a bit of a book fan, you see. It would mean a lot if I could simply look through it. I will handle it with silken gloves.”

“No, I…” Yuuri wracked his mind for a possible excuse, but luckily the High Priestess beat him to it.

“General Cialdini,” she said, projecting her voice. “I believe all is well here; we came here to check on the Incarnate and the structural integrity of his room, not peruse the holy scripture. If you so desire a copy, I shall have one sent to your room.”

The general looked back, nodding slightly.

“Of course, of course! We wouldn’t want to keep Zephemera from his sleep, now would we?” The general turned back to Yuuri, bowing deeply.

Yuuri waited for them to leave before he finally let out a sigh. He set the tome back down on his dresser after removing the feather from between its pages. He walked over to the window and opened it, letting the wind carry the feather outside. He relished in the quiet breeze for a moment before going to his bed and sitting down.

Three… two… one…

There was excited knocking at his door. Yuuri felt a smile form on his face.

“Come in, Phichit,” he said, and the former burst in with a clanging of metal.

“I want to know _everything_.” Phichit removed his helm and laid it on the bed before sitting down himself, fixing Yuuri with wide and hopeful eyes. “You’ve gotta tell me! You just gotta!”

“I know, I know.” Yuuri breathed out a laugh. “Well, I, um… I’ve been sneaking out of my room at night. For a while now.”

Phichit gasped, pretending to be hurt.

“I usually wait until you’re asleep and then… I go out, pretending to be a Descendant. I have a robe and everything.”

“Really? Let me see it!”

Yuuri stood and then bent down to retrieve the robe from under his bed. He shook it out and presented it to Phichit. This time, however, Phichit did not look amused.

“Yuuri… this robe could get you in trouble.” He said, rubbing his chin.

“Huh? What’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t have a Descendant pin, for one.” Phichit said. “Plus it’s the wrong material. And most importantly—it doesn’t have any markings on the hood.”

“I thought they just had to be plain old robes.” Yuuri said, looking over the cloak.

“Nope! They have different pins on them—the eye of Ereshkigal, if you’re Uzimaran, and the eye of Elemance, if you’re Zephemeran. Plus, the markings on the hood represent which squadron you belong to, if you’re a leader—stuff like that. If you’re using this hood to go out, you should be careful of…!” Phichit gasped, then looked back to Yuuri.

“Yuuri! Do you realize how dangerous it is to sneak out?”

“Oh _now_ you worry,” Yuuri muttered.

“Yuuri, I’m serious,” Phichit said with a huff. “If you get caught… oh god, if you get caught, you could get in so much trouble. They’ll practically be putting you on a leash and…” His eyes widened, as if realizing something.

“Whoever’s guarding me will be the one to pay,” Yuuri whispered.

“I…”

“It’s alright!” Yuuri cut him off, smiling. “I don’t plan on going out any more—well, one more time. There’s something I have to take care of. I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble, that’s the last thing I want.”

“Yuuri, you shouldn’t have to worry about any of that.” Phichit stood up, gesturing. “You’re literally a god. If you want to have fun on the town, no one should be able to—”

“Phichit, _please_.” Yuuri balled the cloak up and threw it back under the bed. “First off, I’m a _demigod_. My powers have _limits_. And I can’t go about doing whatever I want—I can’t be impulsive.”

Yuuri looked down at his palms.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to do whatever you want?” Phichit asked, sitting down next to Yuuri. “Without someone to check your every step?”

“It’s a power that _has_ to be checked. If I were an impulsive or uncontrollable person, terrible things could happen!”

“But you’re not. Wanting to be yourself and wanting to sunder the Earth are two different things.”

“That doesn’t make my powers any less fearful,” Yuuri countered. “That’s why I can’t I let myself do what I want.”

“Don’t keep telling yourself that, Yuuri,” Phichit tried to argue. “And, hey! I’ll see if I can look into giving you a proper cloak. It’s not like they sell them on the markets, and they don’t just hand them out to anyone who asks… I’ll see if I can acquire a pin. Maybe. I’ll see.”

Yuuri laughed. “Thanks, Phichit. That means a lot to me.”

“It’s nothing! Oh, I have to tell you—courtyard gossip.”

Phichit began to talk on about the minor happenings in the church—nothing major, just tidbits that didn’t really interest Yuuri., aside from a rumor that the general intended to stay for the Celebration of Dance.

And then, once they were both too tired to stay awake, they parted ways to get some sleep.

* * *

_But Yuuri didn’t get any sleep._

_Yuuri looked around. He was in his room and there was someone sitting on his bed, smiling up at him. They were speaking to him, but he couldn’t pay attention, not when_ this _was happening._

_“This is a dream!” He laughed, turning around to face his room. “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming!”_

_“Ha…to us… Rem…ber… re…mber…” Yuuri could hear the person’s voice, like they were speaking from faraway. He turned to smile to them._

_“I’m dreaming. Hey, I’m dreaming…” Yuuri looked back to his bedroom walls and watched them fall away, brick by brick, until he was standing in St. Argol’s plaza. There was no one around and the sky was impossibly bright._

_“I can do anything.” Yuuri watched the scenery rush by him, and he was in a field with flowers sprouting all around. The grass was impossibly green, and sky’s blue seemed to be burning into his eyes, but he didn’t care, nor did it hurt. The person was standing now, walking around and trying to catch Yuuri’s attention._

_“Yuuri… must …to me, you… remember…Remember?”_

_Yuuri spread his arms and concentrated. He felt his wings unfurl behind him and catch in the wind, and he felt himself fly higher and higher into the sky. He laughed, tumbling and circling in the air, dancing on the clouds and watching the Earth fade from view. He was among the stars, Cyrean’s sash unfurling in the sky and wrapping around him like a warm blanket. And then he was back on the ground, standing before a lake._

_“I can do anything!” He ran out onto the lake, the water freezing immediately. He imagined it to be slippery, and it was, so much that even the slightest step propelled him far across the ice. He danced and spun and laughed on the ice, not realizing that the strange person followed his every move without seeming to take a step._

_“You must… to me… to… remember…”The person tried again to call out to Yuuri. This time he heard._

_“Sorry, I can’t understand a word you’re saying!” He laughed at they’re frustrated expression, but they tried once more._

_“…Yo… re… er now…?” They’re sentences and words faded in and out of his ears, and Yuuri couldn’t hold back the side-splitting laughter._

_“Remember_ what _? Goodness, it’s like you’re on the other side of the world!” He spun around, and the ice began to whirl beneath his feet, creating a still tornado of ice. “Why do you look so worried? What’s the big deal? Who cares! It’s a dream!”_

_Yuuri clenched his fist and the ice shattered into tiny snowflakes, flowing over him and creating a blanket of snow everywhere. There was so much snow and ice and…_

_“If only Viktor were here…” And as if on cue, his dream began to conjure and image out of the snow. Yuuri looked away, shaking his head. This was a dream, it wouldn’t be him._

_“Promised… you promised… Don’t you dare forget…” The person said, exasperated._

_“That’s right—this is a dream. A dream… Goddess—sorry, goodness—I’ve never had a dream before! Never! Haha! This is amazing…”_

_The person sighed. Yuuri turned away from the person, but as he did, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was firm and demanding and he found that he couldn’t move and there was pain blossoming in his left shoulder. All of his thoughts seemed to cease._

“If that is so,” _A voice rang through his head, causing his world to shatter._ “Then how do you know this is a dream?”

_And then he remembered._

* * *

Yuuri woke up, sweat soaking his clothing. He was breathing heavily and his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. He was terrified. For a brief moment, there was a pulsing in his shoulder, matching his heartbeat, but it faded the more he woke up.

He… he was dreaming. He had a dream. He wracked his mind, trying to recall it, but it slipped away and faded into nothing. But he had never dreamt before—never even woken up with the inkling that he’d dreamed of something. Yuuri had long ago written it off as more obscure Incarnate shenanigans, but now he’s had a dream, and it shook him to his very core.

Yuuri took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. His throat was dry and his eyes still felt heavy, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“I can’t help but feel that I’m forgetting something important.” Yuuri dropped back down onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m forgetting something important.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to Studio Ghibli soundtracks can really get the creative juices flowing.
> 
> I really love fantasy, romance, and Yuri on Ice. So here you go. I wanted to write my own fantasy spin, different from the AUs floating around on the tungle. The way I have this planned, it's going to be pretty long, so I'll probably separate it into parts with multiple chapters. In the end, there should be around three parts in total. Just a heads up, I don't really write explicit smut, but there will be implied things in later chapters to come. 
> 
> It would be nice if someone could beta read for me, honestly. Last but not least, tell me what you think! I love world building, and I want the cities, gods, and struggles to feel realistic.


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